


The Pack Survives

by FromTheBoundlessSea



Series: The Celiaverse [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Arya Stark is Ned and Celia’s Daughter, Brandon Stark Lives, Caring Sansa Stark, Celia thinks he’s Ashara’s son, Child Loss, Dark Dany, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Gen, Jon Snow is Jon Rivers in this, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jon Snow's Name is Aemon, Miscommunication, Multi, Mutual Pining, Ned Stark Lives, POV Arya Stark, POV Jon Snow, POV Multiple, POV Ned Stark, POV Sansa Stark, Protective Jon Snow, Protective Ned Stark, R Plus L Equals J, Resolved Romantic Tension, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sansa Stark is Brandon and Catelyn’s daughter, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Spoilers, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Whole lot of Angst, more tags to come, not Dany friendly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-07 21:31:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 76
Words: 90,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21464863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FromTheBoundlessSea/pseuds/FromTheBoundlessSea
Summary: Celia Tully married Ned Stark at the end of Robert’s Rebellion. Although she knows he is and always will be in love with Ashara Dayne, Celia attempts to live a peaceful life with the man she Loved and their family, but plots and treasons from the South and dangers of ice from the North and fire in the East, Celia must do what she can to protect her family.Ned Stark loves his wife but does what he can to protect the last remanent he has of his little sister. When the death of the man who raised him reveals a horrible secret, Ned must make the choice to do what is honorable, or to keep his head in the sand.Jon Rivers has been a stain upon his father’s reputation since he had been born. Although his father’s wife treats him as the son she lost, he knows that his presence hurts her more than anything. However, war is upon the horizon and the line between right and wrong have never been so blurred.Sansa Stark has always known her duty, marry a lord and bear his children. But her heart has always leaned towards her uncle’s bastard, Jon. With war and death surrounding her, Sansa must do her duty, but sometimes duty leads to vows and hearts being broken.Through it all, however: the pack survives.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Ashara Dayne/Ned Stark (past), Brandon Stark/Catelyn Tully Stark, Elia Martell/Rhaegar Targaryen (Past), Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen (past), Ned Stark/Original Female Character(s)
Series: The Celiaverse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1547251
Comments: 1129
Kudos: 1240





	1. Celia I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is long and the next one (from Ned’s POV) will be long too. Both serve as sort of summaries to past events leading up to canon events as their relationship is a little less complicated that Celia and Jaime’s.

“Sit down, Celia,” her sister chided as she brushed the girl’s hair out. 

At thirteen, Celia was rarely still. As the youngest daughter of Hoster Tully, she has found herself to be only a little spoiled, especially by her oldest sister. She had been only five when their mother died and Cat had been a mother to her and her younger brother Edmure ever since. Celia had grown up clutching at her sister’s skirts and learning as best as she could. 

Today was a big day, however, and Celia knew she was to behave like a perfect lady.

“But I am so excited,” Celia said, wiggling in her chair as Cat began to braid her hair. “The prince and princess are coming too!”

She could see her older sister rolling her eyes through the mirror. Cat was seventeen and an adult so she _ had _to act like a lady all the time. “Oh, is that so? I was unaware.”

“Cat~”

Her sister giggled and shook her head. “You need to behave today. Grandfather put a lot into this tournament.”

“He’s going to let me sing the song of welcome too!”

“Yes, he is, but you need to behave.”

“Okay.” Celia sat still as Cat finished her hair. “Are you nervous?”

“Hm?”

“You get to meet Brandon today.”

“_ Lord _ Brandon,” her sister corrected. “And it’s not been decided yet.”

“Sure.” It was Celia’s turn to roll her eyes. “And Ned said I could call him Brandon.”

“Lord _ Eddard _ was probably just being kind to you in your letters,” Cat said with a smile and a shake of her head. “Do _ not _follow through with any of your threats.”

“If he is nice to you, I won’t have to.” She knew where to find just the right fish to stuff into Brandon Stark’s bed if he made her sister cry. Ned had even said he and his sister Lyanna might help should the need arise. 

Cat huffed and finished Celia’s hair. “There. Now we can head down to go greet the prince and princess.”

She offered Celia her hand and the two Tully girls made their way down from their rooms at Harrenhal.

—

Everyone was shocked when the king arrived. Celia had hoped to see the queen as well, but she had apparently stayed in King's Landing. The prince was handsome and looked like all the heroes in the songs Celia had grown up listening to, but the princess had captivated her the most. 

Princess Elia was a beautiful woman with glowing copper skin and hair like ebony. She was radiant in her Dornish dress of red and gold, her rounding belly showing that an heir to the prince might come yet. 

Celia had stared for so long that the princess had _ smiled _at her. If only Lysa hadn’t ruined the moment by hissing at her to stop staring. As soon as the king dismissed them, Hoster Tully led their family to the Starks. 

She could tell who Brandon was right away. He was tall and handsome and broad. There was a girl older than her with them and Celia knew her to be Lyanna Stark. Ned had written of her in his letters. Although she was Lysa’s age, Celia hoped they might be friends. 

“Hoster,” Lord Stark said with a smile. Celia’s father shook the Northman’s hand. “It’s good to see you again.”

Her father smiled. “It is. And this must be Brandon. Gods, you have grown since last I saw you.” 

Brandon smiled. “It is good to see you, Lord Tully.”

“This is my eldest daughter, Catelyn.”

The eldest Stark boy smiled at her and Celia could see her sister blush. He took her hand and kissed it. “It’s an honor, my lady.”

“The honor is mine,” Cat said sweetly. 

“This is my heir and youngest, Edmure.” Her father motioned to her brother. “My second eldest, Lysa, and my second youngest, Celia.”

Brandon threw his head back and laughed while Lord Stark chuckled. “Ah, the girl who wrote to my Ned while he was in the Eyrie,” Lord Stark huffed out the end of his laugh. 

“Father,” the second boy of House Stark said, his ears turning pink. 

Celia gave him a good look, this boy she had been writing to. He was much skinnier than his brother was, less sturdy. Some might think him not handsome. 

_ He _ was _ handsome _ , she thought. _ And kind _. 

His letters had always been kind. 

She had thought to only send a letter wishing to gain some intelligence on the boy her sister might marry and threaten that he needed to be kind to her. However, Ned had written her most dutifully and her septa said it was a good idea for her to practice her letter writing so she kept it up, always excited to receive his letters and always ready to pen a response quickly. 

Ned fumbled with something in his pocket and pulled out a small pouch. He handed it to Celia awkwardly. “You mentioned in one of your letters that you had broken the wolf piece in your cyvasse set.” Celia opened the pouch and looked inside and found a beautiful white stone wolf. “Thought you might like this.”

Celia beamed up at him. “Thank you!”

His ears turned more red as he did not look at her. Brandon laughed while her father and Lord Stark chuckled. 

—

Her grandfather had promised that she would sing the first song of the night. He brought her before the king, prince and princess. She gave a deep curtsy and smiled up at them. The prince and princess were smiling at her in good humor. The little princess was in prince Rhaegar’s arms. 

“My granddaughter,” Lord Whent began. “Celia Tully. She has the voice of a little bird and has prepared a song and a small dance for you, your grace.”

The king waved his hand. “Let her sing it then.”

Celia smiled and waited for the first note to play before she began:

_ Come and be welcome, O wandering minstrel _

_ Spreading your music from city to town _

_ Be you harper or piper, your duty is noble _

_ You carry the tunes that will never die down _

She held her hands aloft, a ribbon in her hand. She turned in a circle and let her voice carry over the strings and whistle of the instruments. 

_ Come from the forest and sit 'round the fire _

_ Come from the fields and enter our hall _

_ Come drink from the guest-cup _

_ Come join in our circle _

_ Come and be welcome ye bards one and all _

She skipped around and let the ribbon flutter through the air as she let it dance around her. It was a dance of the Riverlands. A daughter of her house had performed such a dance for Aegon the Conqueror when he had come upon his dragons with his sister-wives. 

_ Come and be welcome, O noble court poet _

_ The treasure of knowledge is kept in your words _

_ So unlock the riches of rhyme and of rhythm _

_ And let all the wealth of your wisdom be heard _

The prince was tapping his foot to the song and the princess was smiling still. Celia’s heart swelled. If she were able to entertain such a lady, the gods had surely blessed her. 

_ Come and be welcome, O fair-voiced singer _

_ Weaving the magic of music along _

_ You can thunder the heavens to raise up an army _

_ Or simply bring laughter and peace with a song _

She picked up her skirt and lifted it slightly to allow for a small jump where she might let the ribbon circle around her feet. 

_ Come and be welcome, O rare tale-teller _

_ With stories of wonder you wisely recall _

_ Now tell of the heroes who dwell in our history _

_ For tales that are true are the best of them all _

The other lords and ladies were smiling and laughing happily at her performance. It was as old as the Northmen’s guest rights. It was a song of welcome and cheer. Cat had sung and danced at the last tournament they had witnessed in Riverrun. Lysa had never cared for such a thing. 

_ Come and be welcome, wherever you hail from _

_ Share all the secrets and joys of your art _

_ For every new voice that joins in the chorus _

_ Will uplift the spirit and cheer the heart _

A few Riverlords joined in and Celia was happy that she was able to bring such joy to the tournament, even if it had only barely begun. 

_ Come from the forest and sit 'round the fire _

_ Come from the fields and enter our hall _

_ Come drink from the guest-cup _

_ Come join in our circle _

_ Come and be welcome ye bards one and all _

Celia ceases her dancing and ended with a deep curtsy. The lords and ladies around her cheered and clapped for her and Celia beamed. She turned to look at her grandfather who was smiling proudly at her. She turned her attention to the royal family and saw Princess Elia whispering something to her husband.

He nodded. “Bring the girl’s father here.”

Celia’s father came forward and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Hoster Tully, your grace.”

The prince smiled and stood, but not before handing his daughter to the princess. “My wife much enjoyed your daughter’s performance.”

“Thank you, your grace,” Celia said with another curtsy. 

“My wife has wondered if you would allow your daughter to return to King’s Landing with us where she might serve as a young ladies maid to my wife.”

Celia’s eyes widened and she looked up at her father and saw that he was also in shock. His hands tightened on her shoulders. Her father was quiet for a moment. “It would be an honor, your grace.”

Celia looked at the princess and saw her smiling. 

—

She was too young to have anyone want to dance with her, but she stood and watched as the others danced about. Edmure had already been sent to bed, but Celia had convinced her father that she was old enough to stay up for a few hours yet. 

She wished she were old enough for someone to ask her to dance. She wished Petyr would ask her. Surely her father would allow it if Petyr offered. He was like a big brother to her after all. She was not the only one standing to the side watching, however. She saw Ned Stark watching as well. Perhaps she could ask him to dance. She was young enough that it might not seem improper and she had liked it well enough when they spoke earlier. In his letters, he wrote he was not too fond of dancing because he wasn’t good at it. Perhaps he would dance with her, they could do it badly together. Celia took a step towards him when another woman approached. She knew the woman by reputation. 

Ashara Dayne smiled prettily at Ned and curtsied to him. He turned bright red and bowed quickly. They spoke to one another although Celia could not hear a word they were saying. Ned offered her his hand and Ashara took it in her own. 

Celia watched as Ned led the Dornish girl upon the dance floor. Her violet dress whispered across the floor as they spun around, his grey cloak circling them as the turned. It was a beautiful sight. Celia wished she were an artist so she might paint or draw such a picture. 

She watched as the two smiled and Ned said something that cause Ashara to blush and laugh, leaning her head against his shoulder. Ned smiled as well. 

Celia watched the two dance as though they were the only two in the world. It was a world Celia had no part in, yet she wished she were. 

She looked away and went to her father, telling him she was ready to retire to her room. 

—

The whole crowd was silent as Prince Rhaegar rode past his wife and gave the crown of blue roses to Lyanna Stark. 

Celia would never forget that moment in time for however many years the gods granted her, for in her very bones she knew that the tide of history had changed forever.

—

Celia took on her duties as Princess Elia’s ladies maid very seriously. She did all that she could to help the princess and the little prince and princess. Princess Elia was everything Celia had dreamed a princess might be, as was Queen Rhaella, who helped Celia with her stitching whenever it got tangled. 

Celia listened in on the older girls all the time. She felt her body grow numb and heavy every time one of the girls mentioned Ned to Ashara, speaking of their dance at Harrenhal and the letters they exchanged. Celia had kept her correspondence with Ned up since living in the capital, but she felt such a distance that she felt so very alone. It did not help that Celia could compare, first hand, Ashara Dayne and herself. Who would look at her when they could look at Ashara? No one. That was who would notice her. 

Out of everyone in the keep, Celia loved Princess Elia and Rhaenys, Prince Aegon and Viserys, and Queen Rhaella. She was kept mostly from the king during her stay, only seeing him at the petitioner's court. She saw Prince Rhaegar rarely, as he seemed to prefer to go out of the keep to play his harp. 

The crown prince was not as she expected him to be. He was neglectful to his wife and distant with his children. Celia was always the one who held the little princess when she cried herself to sleep after her father, once again, failed to return, as promised, to tuck her into bed. 

Then there were the bruises she saw on the queen’s arms and back. She had told one of the knights that the queen was being harmed but they had done nothing. She went to Princess Elia but the princes had smiled sadly and said that they could do nothing against the king. 

The minstrels and bards were all liars.

—

Celia had lived in King’s Landing for three years when Rickard Stark petitioned the king. Prince Rhaegar had abducted his daughter Lyanna and Lord Stark demanded that the girl be brought back to him. He demanded a trial by combat in order to preserve his daughter’s dignity should the prince have compromised her. 

The king had agreed and Lord Stark readied himself to battle the king’s champion. King Aerys’ laugh carried along the walls of the throne room. He had Lord Stark suspended from the floor of the room and burned alive. Celia fainted to the sound of Lord Stark’s screams. 

When she awoke, she awoke crying.

—

Celia rushed to the queen’s rooms to find the book Princess Elia wished to read. The king was in the throne room at that time of the day so she knew there was no need to worry about him coming upon her at all. Celia searched the room trying to find all the places the queen might have kept the book. 

The door opened and closed and Celia turned to see the king standing before her. She froze for a moment before dipping into a curtsy. 

“What are you doing here?” The king snapped. 

“The princess wished for me get a book she had loaned to the queen, your grace.” She curtsied again. “I apologize for entering the rooms,” she said. “I shall take my leave immediately.”

Celia made to leave when the king took hold of her arm and forced her to face him. He looked at her like a vulture. His violet eyes traced along her body and Celia felt a chill run up her spine. She froze when she felt the king’s hand upon her breast. His thumb rubbed against the peak hidden under the bodice of her dress. 

“How old are you?”

“Th–thirteen,” she lied. She prayed that if she gave such an age he might stop touching her. It felt wrong. She remembered Cat telling her that men who touched a girl when it was unwanted were bad men and she must stay away from them. But she could not move. She was frozen. 

“Your name, girl,” the king said, bringing his face closer to hers. His breath was like flames licking at her face.

“Celia Tully.”

The king laughed. It was the same laugh he had given at Lord Rickard’s screams. “Tell me, girl, what is your _ duty _ to your king.”

Tears began to blur her vision. She closed her eyes and clenched her thighs together as she felt the king lift her skirt, his cold hand skimming along her thigh. 

“Your grace!” Ser Arthur burst into the room. 

“What?” the king snapped. 

“The pyromancer said he wished to speak with you, something about a better formula.”

The king released her skirt and Celia backed away quickly and dipped into a low curtsy. She kept her gaze lowered as the king left the rooms. When the door closed, the tears would not stop. 

She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. 

“Not all men are like that,” Ser Arthur said gently. He handed her a handkerchief to let her dry her tears. “Your sister’s betrothed, for one, and his family.”

He was handsome, she had thought of Ned. And kind. Always kind. Ser Arthur would know since his sister Ashara had formed an attachment to Ned. It made her heart ache more at the thought. 

“Never come to these rooms alone,” Ser Arthur told her. “Never come to this part of the keep at all, if you can help it, do you understand?”

Celia nodded and let the knight guide him back to her rooms. She went to her drawer and pulled out the white wolf Ned had given her and held it to her chest. She knew it was stupid, but she felt protected while holding it. She laid in her bed and sobbed. She never should have come here. 

—

Weeks later, Celia awoke with a start to a hand over her mouth. A man with dark hair and brown eyes was leaning over her. “I mean you no harm, my lady,” he said gently, removing his hand from her mouth. “Your father has commissioned me to get you out of here.”

“My father?”

“Get your things, my lady?”

“Who are you?”

“Davos Seaworth. Just a smuggler.”

Celia stood and collected her few meager belongings. She clutched the stone wolf Ned had gifted her all those years ago in her hand. “Where are you taking me?”

“A party of your father’s men will get you to Riverrun,” the smuggler said. “From there, who knows.”

Celia thought of the little princeses and princess. “Can we not get the children out? The king is holding them hostage?”

“We don’t have the time, my lady.”

“But—”

“We don’t have the time.”

—

She wept at the news of the death of Elia, Rhaenys, and Aegon. She wept for the lives she could not save. 

She should have tried harder. 

—

Celia watched the head table where her sister and Brandon were talking. Cat looked beautiful in her wedding dress, like a queen from the books in the library. She prayed to the gods that Cat gets with child on this night for who knew what the next day would bring after the men depart for the last siege against the Targaryen forces and a few venture to find Lyanna who was rumored to be in Dorne. 

“Would you like to dance, Lady Celia?”

She looked up and saw Ned standing near her awkwardly. She smiled up at him. “Of course.”

Celia took his hand and he guided her to the dance floor. He was not the most elegant dancer, but he led her around the room with sure steps and kept her from bumping into anyone. 

“We leave tomorrow,” Ned said quickly, breaking the silence between them. 

“Yes,” she replied. “I pray to my gods and yours that your travels are good and your quest fruitful.”

He nodded. 

_ I love you, _ she wanted to say, the confession was to herself as well. _ Since I was thirteen _ . _ I have loved you. But I am spoiled, aren’t I? Songs are not true and, even if they were, your melody is already shared with someone else. _

He did not look at her as they danced and Celia could not help but compare the dance she had witnessed between Ned and Ashara. They had seemed almost at ease. As though everything was right with the world. 

If only she were older. 

If only she were prettier. 

If only. 

But his heart belonged to someone else and Celia had to accept that her love would not be returned.

—

When word had come that Lyanna had died in Dorne, Celia wept for the girl not much older than she. It was true that Celia hardly knew her, but she could remember the fondness Ned had written of her and the way his eyes grew soft at the thought of bringing his sister home. 

News of the death of Ashara Dayne reached them soon after. Once more, Celia wept. Wept for Ned’s loss. Celia could see them still as they danced across the stones of Harrenhal. They had been quite a sight, the Northern lord and the Southron beauty. A song she had no part in. A song she could never sing for how her voice would break. 

She wept for that brave man, the gentle man, the strong man she knew Ned to be. 

If she were a greater person she might think herself able to soothe that aching heart, but she knew she could never replace a love like the one she saw. She was not so pretty as that. 

She wept for the women who had died and wept for the man she loved in solitude. 

—

Celia stood with her family as they welcomed the Stark forced into Riverrun. As soon as Brandon entered on his horse, he stepped down and went to Cat. She smiled up at him and introduced him to their son, Robb, after the new king. The head of House Stark smiled down at his son with such fondness that Celia smiled as well. 

“A little wolf,” Brandon said, his voice rumbling softly. He pressed a kiss to Cat’s forehead. “Thank you.” He then made his greetings to their lord father. “We come from victory, my lord. The last of the Targaryen forces have been defeated.”

Hoster smiled. “It is good to hear.” He frowned then. “I am sorry for your loss. Lyanna was a spirited girl and the world is a darker for her loss.”

Brandon nodded his head solemnly. “Her body has already been sent to Winterfell and orders for a statue made in her image to guard her bones, just as it has with my father.”

“Where’s Ned?” Celia asked. 

Brandon glanced at her, his eyes grim. He pointed with his chin to a cart where Celia saw the man she was looking for holding something. “With his bastard.”

Celia’s stomach churned slightly. She had heard that Ashara Dayne was dead, that she had given birth to a child. She had thought the latter statement a rumor. She watched as Ned approached, his arms constantly rocking the babe he held. His gaze remained fixed on the child as though it were the most important thing in the whole world. 

She looked away.

The child _ was _the most important thing in the whole world to him. After all, it would be the only thing he had left of the woman he loved. 

—

“Brandon, you cannot be serious,” Cat said as she looked at her husband in confusion. “My sister cannot marry a man already with a bastard.”

Celia glanced at Ned, where he stood at the corner of the room, his eyes downcast. They had stayed in Riverrun longer than anticipated, but little Robb was still just a tad too small to travel to the North. Little Jon, smaller still. 

“It would forge a stronger union between our houses,” Brandon said, not taking his eyes from Celia’s father. 

“And where would you have them live?” Celia’s father asked. 

“The Whent line is all but extinguished. Have Ned and Celia set themselves up in Harrenhal.”

“And what does your brother think of this?”

Ned kept his eyes downcast. “My only care is that my son stays with me.”

“You would have my sister raise—”

“She need not be a mother to him,” Ned said calmly, not letting Cat finish her sentence. “A nurse can care for him. All I ask is that my son stays with me.”

Celia looked away. Ned must have loved Ashara with all that he was. She doubted any love would be left for anyone save his son and perhaps any child a wife might give him. 

“Celia,” she looked up to her father. “I will let you decide.”

Celia looked at her sister, at her good brother, at her father. At the man she had found herself in love with since she was a little girl. Ned did not look back at her. 

“I…” the words lodged in her throat. “I will marry him, Father.” He glanced at her then. “To–to strengthen the bond of our houses. I… I know I am not… I’m only the third daughter.”

She looked to Ned and saw him watching her closely. She gave him a small smile and gave a silent prayer to any gods that listened. _ He doesn’t need to love me _ , she thought. _ Just let him like me, just a little. That would be enough. _

Ned bowed his head to her and the engagement was struck. 

—

Celia stood at the edge of her childhood bed in her shift, her stomach in knots as she waited for her… her _ husband _to be pushed into her room by the ladies of the keep. She was nervous. There was no need to deny it. She was almost terrified. Ned was… Ned was brave and gentle and strong, but he was still a man. Lysa has whispered that it was like being run through with a sword; Cat said it could be enjoyable if a man knew what he was doing. 

She could only guess that Ned knew what he was doing, considering her had a child already. 

Celia closed her eyes tight to keep herself from crying. She would _ not _cry on her wedding day. Ned had been with Ashara before her, Ashara in all her Dornish beauty and grace. What was Celia in comparison. She was not the great beauty that Cat was. She was not dainty as Lysa, who looked like a willowy princess from the stories. She was plain with too many freckles that had never faded from her childhood. She was not pretty. She’d never been pretty and now a man who had been with one of the most beautiful woman Celia had ever known was going to take her to their marriage bed.

Would he compare them? Would he wish it was Ashara beneath him? Would he whisper her name in their bed? Would he find fault with her? Would she displease him? Would this union be forever haunted by Ashara’s ghost? Would he wish Ashara were the mother of their future children? Would—

She looked up as Ned was pushed into the room, a shriek of giggles coming from outside became muted as the door closed behind him. He was in his trousers and his brown hair was a mess, as though many hands had run through it. Gods, he was as handsome as he had been when they first met. 

Celia looked down to the floor. She gave a short curtsy. “My lord.”

Ned was quiet for a moment. “You… you need not curtsy.” She glanced at him and found him not watching her, his hand rubbed the back of his neck as he thought. “We need not do anything tonight if you do not wish it.”

Celia blinked away the forming tears. He did not want her. He did not even want to _try_ to want her. “I’m sorry,” she breathed, her voice hitched at the apology and his gaze snapped towards her. Gods be damned she could not stop her tears now. She buried her face in her hands. “I am sorry that I do not please you.”

She could hear him approach her quickly. “No, my lady! No,” he said, distressed. “I merely do not wish to force you to consummate the union tonight. The first time can be painful for a lady.”

She wondered if Ashara had been in pain, or if he had worked her thoroughly beforehand so it might be less painful, that is what the cook’s daughter had said some men do. She wondered if Ashara had liked things a certain way—the tears would not stop—she wondered if Ashara had memorized the way Ned liked things. _ What if she did it wrong? _

“Then we will do it wrong together.” Celia looked up and realized she had said the last thought aloud. Ned cupped her face in his hands before she could look away. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said gently. “And I will stop.” He pressed his forehead against her own. “Celia, tell me what you want.”

“To—to be your wife,” she whispered softly. His thumb rubbed along her cheek, taking some of her tears with it. If she could not have his love, could not be his first, than she could have his name and be his last. “In every way.”

His lips pressed against hers. They were soft as he took gentle ownership of her own. His hands slid down her face and down her body until she was in his arms. It was as though he loved her. 

Hesitantly, Celia let her arms wind round his neck as she got on her toes to kiss him back. He hummed against her lips and she gasped as the feeling seemed to spread through her body. His tongue slipped into her mouth and Celia moaned against it as Ned began to guide her back into her bed. His hands began to pull up her shift as she laid down, pulling it over her head so that she was bare beneath him. Her arms went around her chest. She knew she was small in comparison to Ashara. Gods, she probably looked like a child to him. 

“Don’t hide yourself,” he whispered softly as he climbed over her. “Not from me.”

He kissed her again, just as sweetly as he had when they made their vows before the septon. One of his hands slid down her side and to her hip while the other cupped her breast and began to knead it. She gasped as he settled between her legs and she felt a hardness rest against her core, separated only by his trousers. He began to grind himself into her as he continued to devour her. His lips had descended to her neck and he began to suck hungrily at her sink. 

“N-Ned…”

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered.

She did not have the words to describe what she wanted. “In—” Her breath hitched as she felt his trousers slip slightly and she felt coarse hair rub against her. “Inside—”

He pressed his lips against her cheek before sitting up and stepping off the bed. She watched as he untied his already loose trousers and let them slide down his hips. 

Celia looked away, her cheeks burning red. Her husband crawled back on top of her and she could feel his manhood brush along her entrance. 

“Tell me if you want to stop.”

She did not stop him from taking her maidenhead. She did not stop him as he began to pound helplessly into her heat. She did not stop him from spilling so very quickly into her. She did not stop him as he pressed his fingers into her and brought her to a place she didn't know existed. She did not stop him when he pulled her to his chest to breathe. She did not stop him when he took her again and she questioned his title of the Quiet Wolf. She did not stop him as she cried out for him to go harder, faster. She did not stop him from staying buried deep inside her as he rested his cheek against the valley of her breasts. 

She could not stop him when she fell asleep in his arms. Imagining—pretending—that she was the only woman he had ever known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... what did you guys think?  
So much stuff happened that I don’t know where to begin!  
What did you think of Celia and Ned’s relationship? Of Celia looking in on and feeling jealousy in Ned’s relationship with Ashara. What do you guys think? Was there something between them? Do you think Ned had sex with Ashara?  
The scene with Aerys was super hard to write! Did I do okay?  
The wedding night! 😭 poor Celia!
> 
> We’ll get some of Ned’s POV on the wedding night in the next chapter.
> 
> I plan on updating this fic every Saturday and Sunday along with Family, Duty, Honor.
> 
> Also the song Celia sings is “Come and Be Welcome” by Heather Dale


	2. Ned I

Ned laid in his wife’s bed, staring up at the canopy. Celia’s warm body was pressed against his side. Her cheek rested on his chest and her hand placed over his heart. He could feel her chest expand slightly with every breath she took. She would be sore tomorrow, he hadn’t been as gentle as he should have been. Ned hated himself a bit for it. 

Married. 

It was hard to believe how far everything had come since Harrenhal. He was no older than his wife was now that fateful tourney where his life had changed. When Rhaegar had met Lyanna. When Ned had met Ashara. 

He had been a boy really. He had been eighteen and a fool in love. Ned had loved Ashara within moments of knowing her. He had been a boy who did not know consequences. He had followed Ashara into one of the many empty rooms of Harrenhal and had taken her maidenhead. Sometimes he could still remember the soft noises she had made under him and the soft kisses she had pressed to his lips and skin. 

Gods, he had loved her. He had told her that he would marry her and she had just laughed, kissing him sweetly and whispering  _ soon.  _

He had visited her during the rebellion, finding solace in her arms on more than one occasion. He had planned their lives together in those arms. But then she had told him where Lyanna was. Then he had killed her brother. Then she had lost their child before they could even celebrate its existence. Then he had lost her. They had never found a body and Ned had barely been allowed to mourn. 

Jon was the only thing that kept him going. 

_ Promise me, Ned.  _

His sister’s son wouldn’t be safe if the boy’s parentage were known. Brandon had tried to claim him, tried to say that no one would think anything of it, not with his reputation. But Ned had refused to let the boy go. He would fall apart if he did. The loss of Ashara and the child never born still haunted his very bones. Let him keep Jon. Let him protect his nephew. It was the only thing that let the loss make any sense. 

Then, Brandon had asked him to marry Celia, a girl he barely knew, in truth. 

_ She needs to be protected, Ned,  _ his brother had told him. 

_ Another man can do it, a man not already saddled with a bastard.  _

His brother had looked pained.  _ There are rumors, Ned. And you know rumors can ruin a person.  _

_ What rumors? _

_ That the Mad King forced her into his bed.  _

Ned’s stomach had churned and even know he pulled his wife’s body closer to his own. He closed his eyes. Even though he had seen her last at Brandon’s wedding, he could still recall the thirteen year old girl beaming up at him as though he were the most interesting person in the world. 

_ It’s rumors, but it changes nothing. Hoster has kept the rumors away from her, but she may hear them eventually. _

_ Why are you asking me to do this? _

_ Even with people believing Jon to be your bastard, you’re still considered as honorable as you have always been.  _

_ I’m not honorable,  _ he had said, thinking of Ashara. 

_ Even so, the rumors might go away should you marry. She’s a good girl, Ned.  _

He had agreed only if she would agree to allowing him to keep Jon. Ned had been surprised when she had agreed. Now, there they were, in her childhood bed. 

Ned closed his eyes and prayed to the old gods that he did not ruin this girl’s happiness. . 

—

When they settled in Harrenhal, Ned had little idea of how to keep the castle going. There was almost too much space in the keep for anyone. They sectioned off portions of the keep to seasons. A section to live during the winter. A section to live during the spring. A section to live during the summer. A section to live during the fall. It was the only thing to do really. 

They lived in the summer halls at the moment. Ned had taken his wife many times in their rooms, knowing that many would not consider their union legitimate until a child was born. 

He wasn’t surprised that Celia did not spend time with Jon unless Ned was with him. She would smile at the boy and hold him if Ned asked her to, but she did not go out of her way to spend her hours with him. 

Sometimes Ned would find Celia watching him and Jon with a sad, distant look in her eyes. When she noticed his gaze, she would turn away, her cheeks red with embarrassment.

—

She was desperate for him and he was for her in his own way. Celia pulled at the strings of his trousers as he practically ripped the nightgown from her body. He pulled her body to his as he walked them into their bed. His hips already rutted against hers, desperate for relief against the growing hardness of his cock. Gods, he  _ needed  _ her. 

“Ned,” she breathed as he laid her down. “Please…”

Ned pulled off his shirt and let his trousers pool around his ankles. She parted her legs for him as he crawled into the bed over her. He hooked her leg up his hip and rubbed the tip of his cock to her entrance. Gods, she was so wet. 

He took no time in entering her. Celia cried out as he sheathed himself within her. He froze for a moment to let her get used to his size before he began to thrust in earnest. 

He took her hard and fast, pistoning his hips into her own, the headboard of their bed smacking against the wall with every thrust. Celia cried out, clinging to him. 

“Harder!” she urged, her nails digging into his back. “Gods, Ned! Harder! Oh!”

He let his hand between them and pressed his thumb against the place she liked. He swallowed her silent screams as she began to flutter around him. 

“That’s it, Celia,” he growled, nipping at her bottom lip as he felt her come around him. “That’s it!”

He collapsed atop her when he spilled, all his strength sapped from his body in a matter of moments. She held onto him, kissing the crown of his head and all the other places her mouth could reach. 

—

Their daughter came into the world screaming. Ned was half inclined to think she was Brandon’s daughter by how loud she was. Alternatively, Ned had heard that Brandon’s daughter had been born with a giggle, although he supposed that was a lie his brother believed because Ned knew full well that Brandon was firmly wrapped around that girl’s little finger. 

Ned sat with his wife as she began to suckle their daughter. The girl took after him but he could see that the girl had Celia’s nose. 

He put his arm around Celia’s shoulder and kissed her temple. “You did so well,” he whispered, pressing another kiss to her exposed shoulder. “Look at what we made.”

Celia smiled down at their little girl. “What shall we name her, my lord?”

Ned was annoyed at times that his wife did not call him by his name at all times as he did, but he could not, for the life of him, figure out why she did that. “Have you thought of names?”

“Lyanna,” she said gently. “Or…” she kept her gaze fixed on their daughter. “Ashara.”

Ned’s stomach churned and his gaze remained on the babe as well. “No, we should name her something different.”

“Of course,” Celia said, her cheeks turning pink. “Those names should be saved for if Jon has any children of his own.”

Ned could not look at his wife. “Arya,” he said at last. “It’s a good Northern name.”

Celia nodded. “Hello, Arya,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to their daughter’s dark hair.

—

She was bent over his desk, her skirts pushed up her hips. His trousers were pooled at his feet as he thrust into her from behind. He hadn’t meant to take her there, meaning to only ever take her in their bed where none might disturb them. But she had come to visit him in his office to tell him the maester had said she was healed from Arya’s birth and he had missed her. 

“Ned!” She cried out as his grip on her hips tightened. The slap of their skin echoed across the walls, filling the room with the sound. “Please, please!”

“Tell me what you want,” he growled, trying to keep his concentration as his control began to slip. He thrust into her as she tried to hold onto the edge of his desk. “Gods, Celia—”

“Give me another babe, Ned,” she pleaded, her back arching, a hand covering one of his own. “I want another babe!”

Ned began to pound more earnestly into her. “We’ll have a whole pack,” he growled, leaning over to nip at her ear. “You’ll be pregnant every spring and we’ll fill the halls with our babes.”

“Yes!” Celia moaned. She reached back and fisted at his hair, rocking back into his thrusts, making them sharper. “Yes!”

“Do you want that, Celia? Do you want me to put another babe in you? Take you every day until you grow round again?” He was a wolf and she was his mate. His teeth scraped against her shoulder and she cried out, pushing herself harder against his thrusts. He was mounting her, claiming her as his own. 

He was so close. He slipped his fingers between her legs and began to bring her to a release. She fluttered around him and he spilled almost instantly inside her. 

Ned kissed the back of her neck. “I’ll give you another babe,” he whispered to her as she caught her breath. “I’ll give you everything, Celia. Everything.”

—

Ned rested his cheek against his wife’s belly, feeling the slight  _ thump  _ from a kick or a punch. He chuckled. “They seem active.”

Celia smiled down at him from where she sat on their bed. Her fingers carded through his hair as Ned continued to listen and feel the child growing in her belly. 

“I pray it’s a boy,” she said softly. “A boy that looks like you. An heir.”

Ned sat up and kissed her tenderly on the lips. “I will love them regardless, but if it’s a son you want, I shall pray for one too.”

His wife beamed up at him and Ned kissed her once more.

—

Ned held his wife as she screamed. 

She was curled around their son, holding his body to her chest as she cried out, begging for the gods to give them their son, to let him at least share one breath of air with them. But the gods were silent. 

The maester and the midwives had left them to mourn, knowing such a loss needed to be private. Ned had no doubt the news would spread around the keep quickly.

Celia continued to sob as she rocked their son, begging him to breathe, to open his eyes. Ned held her tighter as he felt his own feelings slip. He buried his face in his wife’s hair as a cry tore from his throat. 

_ My son,  _ he thought.  _ My son.  _

—

_ I’m so sorry, Ned.  _

_ Brandon _

—

Celia was quiet. She was withdrawn and Ned had no idea how to help her except hold her in his arms at night. 

His wife did not sing anymore. Ned had not realized how often his wife hummed or sang to herself until she stopped altogether. He would find her visiting Arya and holding their daughter tightly in her arms, refusing to give her to anyone for hours on end. She would be wandering the halls like a ghost or looking out a window, a hand to her belly. 

Ned would pull her away when he could, spending time with her as much as he was able, but the needs of a keep never stopped. 

One night, Celia came to bed, Jon in her arms. While his wife was not cruel to the boy he claimed as his bastard, she had always been distant and reserved, never taking in the role of mother and leaving it to the nursemaid Ned had initially hired for the boy. So, seeing her holding Jon confused Ned greatly. 

“He had a nightmare,” Celia said, as though it explained everything. “He shouldn’t be alone, Ned.” She held the boy in her arms, tears began to slide down her cheeks. “He doesn’t have a mother, Ned. He shouldn’t be alone.”

Ned stood up from their bed and crossed over to them quickly. He brought his wife into his arms as she began to sob. Jon was clinging to both of them and Ned felt tears spilling from his eyes as well. 

He took his wife and nephew into their bed. Jon laid nestled between them as Celia curled around him. Ned looked at the two of them and watched over them until both fell asleep. 

—

Ned pressed kisses to Celia’s inner thighs as he teased her with his fingers. He had already drunk from her and knew he needed to help her through this release before he pulled up and buried himself in her. 

“Ned,” she whispered, rocking her hips to meet the thrust of his fingers. 

He had been taking her more gently recently, memorizing her body with his lips and fingers. The loss of their son still rattled her, but being able to mother Jon had helped her in some capacity. 

Ned crawled up her body, leaving a trail of kisses as he traveled up. 

“Ned,” she breathed, her word hitching slightly as he settled in the cradle of her thighs. He kissed her lips tenderly. “I need…”

“I know.” He kissed her again as he sank into her heat. 

It’s where he belonged. 

—

Ned breathed a sigh of relief once he heard the Greyjoy horn of surrender sound. The rebellion was over. He could go home. 

He could go home. 

—

Celia stood with the servants to greet him upon his return home. In her arms was their newest daughter, Lyarra, after his mother. Even though the girl was named for a Stark, Ned could see her mother’s Tully features with soft red hair. Jon stood by Celia’s side, Arya next to him. 

Ned looked at his daughter and pressed a kiss to his wife’s lips. “I’m sorry I could not be here for the birth,” he whispered, nuzzling her gently. 

“Is the rebellion over?” she asked. 

“Aye, it’s over, love. I’ll not be leaving you for a while yet.” He kissed his wife one more time before greeting his children. 

—

“Ned…” She fisted at his hair as he sucked on her breast, tasting her milk on his tongue. He released her with a pop and he licked his lips, looking up at her. “It’s for Lyarra.”

He smiled and kissed his way up to her neck. “She’s not using it,” he whispered hoarsely, nipping at the base of her neck. “I don’t think she’ll mind.”

“Kiss me,” she whispered. 

Ned brought his lips to her own. She opened her mouth to him almost immediately and Ned’s tongue plundered her mouth, taking no prisoners when it came to claiming it. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she began to buck her hips against him. 

His cock was so had it was almost painful. It did not help when Celia’s hand reached down to squeeze his length in her hand. Ned groaned against her lips and began to rut into her hand. 

“Celia…” he whined as she squeezed against his rut. “Love…”

“I want you inside me, Ned,” she gasped as his fingers pushed inside her heat. “I want to feel you even tomorrow morning. I want you to make love to me…”

“Gods, it’s been love for a long time.” He pulled out of her hand and replaced his fingers with his cock. 

Celia sighed as he began to rut into her. He  _ had  _ to take it slowly or he wouldn’t last long. She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his hips. Her heel dug into his back, urging her deeper. 

“Ned…” she breathed, her head rolling back against her pillow. “Ned…”

“Celia,” his lips dragged against her skin, sliding across her cheek and pressing against hers. “Celia, love.  _ My _ love.  _ My  _ wife.” She fluttered around him and Ned picked up the pace of his thrusts. The headboard of their bed began to smack against the wall. “Celia.  _ Celia. Celia _ .”

Her name was a prayer in his lips as she prayed back to him, crying out for him to go faster. Harder. 

Ned obliged, pounding into her with such fur or that he worried that she might not walk the next day. 

“ _ Yes! _ ” She screamed as she tipped over around him. “Yes!”

Ned groaned as he spilled into her. He continued to rut in her until he was soft. It was only then that he pulled out and then stuffed his fingers back in, keeping her full and making sure not a single drop of his seed was spilled. 

—

Minisa was born on the first day of spring that year. She took after Ned and he loved the little girl with his whole heart, just as he loved the rest of his daughters. 

Celia has smiled up at him as the rest of their children and Jon peered at the latest addition to their family. Ned smiled back at her. 

_ I love you _ , he mouthed to her. 

_ I love you too _ , she mouthed back.

—

The years went by and Ned could not imagine a life without Celia by his side. She was a wonderful mother to their daughters and she took on the role of mother to Jon like a fish to water. Jon was aware that Celia was not his mother and she asked that he not call her such. 

“His mother is his mother,” she told Ned as they readied for bed one night. “I am taking her place, but I cannot replace her.” She placed her hand over his heart. “One day, he will ask you questions about her. You knew her better than I.” She kissed his chest. “I cannot replace her. Jon deserves to know the woman of your memory as his mother. It feels unkind to erase her existence. She brought him into this world after all.”

Ned brought his wife’s hand to his lips and kissed it. 

He hated the lie that had formed the base of their marriage. It was partial truths. He had loved Ashara and she had been with his child, but that was all. He knew she thought Ashara to be Jon’s mother and he could not correct her. Would she think less of him if he said it was not Ashara who had borne the boy? Would she think badly on herself if he let her believe he had taken another woman to his bed?

Ned rolled over on top of Celia, kissing her. 

He lied to protect Jon. But he lied to protect Celia and his daughters. If they did not know the truth, should he be discovered they would not be punished. 

“Ned…” she pulled at his shirt but found that she had no patients for it. 

His trousers were barely down his hips before he entered her. This coupling was hot and fast and hard. He pounded into her, seeking absolution for the sins he could never share with her. 

Celia moaned beneath him, crying out to him made her his own again and again and again. 

“I love you,” he breathed into her. “I love you.”

—

Alarra and Alys were born at the tail end of summer. Ned kissed his wife and had minstrels brought from King’s Landing to entertain the children. He felt at peace. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end!
> 
> I’m kidding! Lol!
> 
> So, what did you guys think? It’s my first time writing from Ned’s POV. Does it make sense why he wanted to be the one to keep Jon? Is it believable that he had a relationship with Ashara?   
Celia opening up to Jon in her heartbreak. Them only having girls will be important in the coming chapters.   
I know there are some people out there that say Ned didn’t love Catelyn (the idiots) because he didn’t think of her a lot in his canon POV. Him choking Baelish says otherwise. Anyways, do you guys feel he loves Celia? I know this is a gloss over a good fifteen years or so of their relationship but we’ll get more of that in later chapters. 
> 
> We are now to canon events and Arya has a POV next. I will update every Saturday and Sunday from now on.


	3. Arya I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m going to post a chapter every day this week to get people interested and then begin regular updates on Saturday and Sunday.

Arya sat in the stable loft, avoiding Septa Orda for as long as she possibly could. Avoiding her mother too. 

It was time for her sewing circle and her sewing lessons, but she would rather to never go. For one, they were extremely boring, and for another she was terrible at it. Her needlework was horrible and even her father had tried to tell her mother that it was pointless. Her mother had insisted and her father always listened to her mother when it came to raising Arya and her sister. 

“I wasn’t always good at sewing, Arya,” her mother had told her when she was ten. “Just give it time.”

Arya doubted her mother had ever been bad at anything. Her mother’s needlework, for instance was beautiful. Lords all over the Riverlands requested she make some presents for their wives or daughters or betrothed. The images practically lept or flew from the fabric. Arya knew she would never be  _ that  _ good. 

A month or so ago, she had overheard her septa talking with one of the other servants.

_ Lady Arya is nothing like her lady mother, _ Septa Orda had said.  _ She’s all wildness, just like that Stark aunt of hers. I remember the girl being as wild as a boy and I cannot believe her father thought to betroth her to someone Southron. That may be all well in good in the North, but here it is not. _

Arya could never hate her mother, but she hated that she was constantly being compared to her. The servants of Harrenhal had known Arya’s mother since she was a little girl. Her mother was a Southron beauty with hair the color of a sunset and eyes an ocean blue. Her mother was good at writing and sewing and history. Her mother was even good at singing, although she rarely did so now. 

Arya took after her father. She looked northern with a long face and dark features. Her mother had assured her that she was beautiful, that her hair was the color of rich earth and eyes the color of storm clouds. She heard the servants whisper that she looked like her dead Aunt Lyanna. Arya could remember visiting one of the minor lords with her father and Jon and her father had held her tightly at one point in the journey there and back. 

_ It’s where your Aunt Lyanna was taken,  _ her mother had told her when Arya asked. She had kissed the top of her head.  _ Your father just worries for you, sweetling. You’re so much like her so he wants to spoil you, but he knows where that can lead. _

“Arya.”

She winced when she saw her bastard brother Jon looking at her as he leaned against the loft floor on the ladder. While Arya looked Northern, Jon looked exactly like their father in miniature. Even the frown was the same. 

“Your mother is looking for you.”

“Then why isn’t she here if you knew where I was?” Arya asked, crossing her arms. 

Jon sighed and climbed into the loft and sat down next to her with a grunt. “I thought I’d give you the opportunity to turn yourself in.”

“I don’t want to go to my sewing lessons,” she groaned. “They’re boring and pointless. It’s not like I’m the heir.”

“You are the heir.”

“But you’re the oldest son,” Arya said. “The  _ only  _ son.”

“I’m just a bastard,” Jon said with another sigh. “I can’t inherit. Unless your mother has a son, you’re the heir.”

Arya sighed. For all the seemingly perfect person her mother was, Arya knew there were some people who tutted about the lack of sons her mother had given birth to. One stillborn son and a small pack of daughters. Arya thought it was stupid, even when she was younger, but it was how the world worked. 

“I don’t want to be the heir.”

Jon patted her back. “Still, it’s what you are. At least you aren’t the only future House Stark has to put their hope in. Gods, then we’d be in trouble.”

Arya laughed and nudged her brother with her shoulder. He nudged her back. 

Jon helped her up. “Come on.”

They left the stables and made their way towards the summer portion of the keep. She saw her mother waiting for them, her arms crossed. 

Her mother sighed and patted Jon on the cheek and gave him a kiss there. “Your father is waiting for you in the training yard.”

Jon smiled and kissed Arya’s mother on the top of her head. He’d been doing that ever since he finally hit his growth spurt and went past her head, even if it was by only an inch. Her brother headed on his way and that’s when her mother’s attention went to Arya. 

“Alright now, time for your lessons.”

—

Arya grew more and more frustrated with every stitch that looked crooked. She glanced at her mother’s work, a small landscape with the silhouette of Harrenhal in the background. Arya looked back to her own work. It was supposed to be their family sigil, but it just looked like a mess. 

“I don’t  _ want  _ to learn embroidery,” Arya said under her breath so only her mother could hear. She didn’t want to embarrass herself or her mother in front of the other ladies of the keep. “I’m bad at it and it’s utterly pointless.” She glanced at her mother who had slowed her stitching to indicate she was listening. “Most of Septa Orda’s lessons are pointless.”

“What is it you don’t find pointless?” her mother asked. 

“The things that Father does. The lessons Jon gets from the maester. I want to learn about fighting and war and battle plans. This is just stupid.”

Her mother paused in her stitching and glanced at Arya. “Sweetling, do you know what stitch might be useful to sew up a sword wound and the difference between that and a dagger wound?”

Arya blinked. “No?”

“Which of all the houses in Westeros are more likely to start a conflict with us and how far or near they are to us? Do any of them have familial ties to us?”

“No?” Arya tried to think and she could only think of the Riverlords and none of them had any problem with them that she could think of. 

“If Dorne decided to go to war against us, what items would we find ourselves without during said war?”

“I don’t know.” Arya blushed. 

Her mother set down her needlework. “My daughter and I are going to take a short walk,” she told the other ladies in the room. “We shall return shortly.” She stood up and motioned for Arya to join her. She did so with little complaint. Arya followed her mother out of the sewing room and she linked arms with her as they began to walk. Her mother but her hand over Arya’s. “I wasn’t trying to embarrass you, sweetling,” she said. “But you need to understand, you are learning these things for a reason.”

“But it’s all so useless. It’s not important.”

“They are important. Because I know how to stitch fabric back together, specifically leather, I have a better understanding of how I might patch you father back together after a training accident if he’s too stubborn to go to the maester. I know which houses I need to tread carefully with when I’m helping your father think about future alliances or trading deals. I know what items of food or clothing or necessities we might have to live without if our country falls to war or rebellion again. Most importantly, I know how to run this keep if your father is ever called away and can take care of our people when your father is not able to.”

Arya looked down and thought. 

Her mother sighed. “Arya. I cannot pick up a sword or fight like your father and brother can. Does that make me any less important? Does that make me less useful?”

Arya’s gaze shot up to her mother’s. “No! Not at all, we’d all be lost without you.”

Her mother smiled and pressed a kiss to Arya’s temple. “I know your father likes to encourage your interests, but you need to remember that not everyone is as open minded as your father. I know it’s unfair, but women have certain roles and obligations we must meet. I don’t want you getting in trouble or finding yourself at a place you might be ridiculed by those above you.”

“But Mother—”

“Arya, you are protected because you are a Stark and Tully and because the titles our houses have, but others don’t always have that luxury. Our actions, the actions of the nobles, affect the smallfolk.” She pressed another kiss to Arya’s head. “There are people who will judge you for things you cannot change and try to use it against you,” her mother’s eyes grew sad and a lump formed in Arya’s throat. “Do not give them more reasons to.”

Arya knew her mother was thinking about the baby brother she had lost when Arya had been small. No one dared say it to her mother’s face or anywhere  _ near _ her father, but Arya knew some people looked down on her mother just a tiny bit for not giving her father any sons. 

Arya could remember a minor lord telling her father, just after the twins were born, that he should set aside her mother and remarry since the chances of her giving him a trueborn son was growing slimmer with every passing year. She had never seen her father get so angry. He had ordered the lord to never come into his keep again and refused to speak to the man or his family. Arya’s mother had held her so tightly that Arya had wondered for whose sake it was. 

“Mother…”

The woman took a deep breath and smiled at Arya. “I just don’t want you to make a decision you might regret one day.” She squeezed Arya’s hand tenderly. “Now, let’s return for the sewing circle.”

—

They had their supper that night in their parents solar. They didn’t always have their meals there and often had them amongst the servants in whatever great hall they were using that season, but they did sup with only their family on occasion. Arya prefered those times simply because the family felt more together when they did. They did not have to think about what others might think of them when it was only themselves they needed to worry about. 

Her parents were sitting next to each other that night. Jon sat on the other side of their father. When they were with the servants to dine, Jon wasn’t allowed to speak much with their father because of his status as a bastard. Arya had heard plenty of people tut about how kind Arya’s mother was to treat Jon like a son or nephew. Some even said she treated Jon as though he were a child born from her husband’s first marriage as opposed to a bastard born to him before they married, as though he was her father’s heir as well. 

Arya sat next to her mother with the twins next to her. Lyarra and Minisa sat on the other side of Jon. Lyarra adored their brother and was quite jealous of how often Jon spent time with Arya since Lyarra was too young to be allowed in the training yard even if she wanted to. Their mother had banned anyone under the age of ten from joining their father and brother in the yard because Lyarra had nearly been trampled when trying to get Jon’s attention and had, instead, spooked one of the horses. 

“No fair!” Alys said, her nose scrunching up in annoyance, breaking Arya from her thoughts. “I wanna sit wit Mommy.”

“Me too!” Alarra demanded. “Me too!”

Their father laughed and placed a hand over his heart looking wounded. “Am I to always to be second to your girls?”

“Yes!” came the answer from Arya’s younger sisters. Jon snickered from his place at the table. 

Arya’s mother gave a soft laugh and pressed a kiss to her husband’s shoulder. Her father smiled and lifted her hand to his lips. Her mother’s cheeks turned rosey when he did so. Her parents smiled at each other and her father leaned forward to give her a small peck on the lips. 

“Yuck,” Minisa said, making a face.

Arya watched her parents and wondered if she was destined to have a marriage like her parents. She knew it was what people expected of her, but it didn’t feel like her. It didn’t feel like her at all. She wasn’t meant to be the lady of some great keep. 

She wanted to get married one day however, at least she thought she did. Regardless, she hoped that the man she married one day loved her for her, even if she can’t perform her duties like some people thought her mother didn’t. 

—

Their father announced during their midday meal that they would be traveling to Winterfell to visit their cousins and Uncle Brandon and Aunt Cat. The twins squealed in delight as they had never gone North before. They had never even truly left the keep before. Minisa had been five the last time they had gone and barely remembered any of it. Lyarra remembered more and she was excited to see their oldest cousin, Robb, whom she said looked like a prince. 

While Arya was excited to see her aunt, uncle, and cousins, she was a little nervous about seeing her cousin Sansa again. She and her cousins were both fifteen but. As her aunt put it, Sansa had been a lady since she was three. She was good at everything Arya was not and it irked her how easily it all came to Sansa. 

“Will Jon be coming with us, Father?” Arya asked. 

“He always does,” he replied. “I’m certain your uncle would rather not be outnumbered, he has not grown used to it as I have,” he chuckled. 

Arya was glad Jon was coming. If he came, she was more likely going to be allowed in Winterfell’s training yard. Her mother preferred Jon being with her whenever she  _ did  _ go to the training yard. It set her mind at ease, she supposed. 

Arya glanced over at Jon and found that he was blushing. She wondered if Jon was thinking of Sansa. 

The last time they had gone to Winterfell, Arya remembered exploring the keep and coming across something she probably hadn’t been supposed to see. It had been brief, but she remembered seeing Sansa give Jon a swift peck on the lips for returning a doll she thought she had lost. He’d been fourteen and Sansa had only been twelve, like Arya. She remembered Sansa turning bright pink and stammering out an apology and Jon had been quick to apologize too, for some reason. 

Arya wondered if her aunt and uncle would let Sansa marry a bastard. He could be a Stark then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you guys think of Arya? I’ve only ever written from her POV when she’s an adult. She’s fourteen now, in case anyone is wondering.  
What did you think of her and her moment with Jon? Celia’s moment with Jon?  
What did you think of Celia’s conversation with her daughter?  
What did you think of the supper scene?  
What did you think about Sansa and Jon having already shared their first kiss?


	4. Jon I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please reread the last chapter, Arya I! I’ve edited it and add some things to it when I realized I had made a mistake. Arya is fifteen at the beginning of this fic and I changed just enough that it warrants rereading! Thanks!

Jon’s earliest memory was waking up from a nightmare. 

He slowly climbed out of bed and tiptoed towards his door, even though no one was going to hear him. His nurse was in one of the other halls with her own family and Jon knew she wouldn’t be up anyway. Jon peeked through the door and saw that the hall was empty, just as it should be so late in the night. 

Jon wanted to go to his father’s rooms and sleep with him so the nightmare wouldn’t come back. _ Fire and smoke and salt and ash. _ However, his nurse said he should never go to his father’s rooms at night because he would only disturb his father and his father’s wife. 

Lady Celia had been crying a lot lately. She looked like a ghost, with her pale skin and her hair the color of blood. Father had been withdrawn as well. Jon’s nurse said they had lost a baby. Jon had asked how a person could lose a baby and his nurse had just patted him on the head and told him that sometimes the gods got lonely and kept some children for themselves. 

Jon crept down the hall and to the nursery. Since he was awake the nightmare had to go somewhere. He didn’t want it to wake up his little sister. Half-sister, is what Jon’s nurse told him to call her since she was Lady Celia’s child and he was not. But he called her his little sister all the same. He entered the nursery and sat down next to Arya’s crib. He was going to protect her from the nightmare. 

“What are you doing?”

Jon jolted awake and looked up to see Lady Celia standing over him. Her eyes were rimmed red and she looked close to tears once more. He quickly stood up and bowed. “Sorry.”

“What are you doing here?” she repeated. 

“Nightmare not for Arya,” he mumbled. 

“Did _ you _have a nightmare?” she asked kneeling in front of him. Jon nodded. “And you’re protecting Arya from it?” He nodded again. “Was it scary?” Jon felt tears begin to prick his eyes when he nodded. “Why didn’t you come to your father?”

“Not supposed to,” Jon said looking down. “Don’t wanna bother you.”

Lady Celia froze. 

Jon glanced up at her and saw that she was crying again. He began to panic. “Sorry,” he said reaching out to wipe away her tears. “Sorry!”

Lady Celia gathered him up in her arms and held him tight. “Shhh, it’s okay sweetling. Shhh…” She stroked his curls and held him close. “It’s okay.” She pressed a kiss to the side of his head. “I want you to come to me and your father if you ever have another nightmare.”

“Sorry,” Jon whimpered again, wrapping his arms around her neck. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, sweetling,” she whispered, pressing another kiss to his head and standing up. “It’s not your fault, sweetling. It’s not your fault.”

She took him to his father and her rooms and held him tightly for the rest of the night. 

—

“But _ I _want to ride with Jon!” Minisa pouted as he helped passed her to her mother already in the carriage. 

“Maybe later,” Jon said, trying to get his sister to calm down. “If Father allows it.”

“I’m sure he will, Jon,” Lady Celia told him gently as she settled Minisa next to her. “I might just make you take the girls out in turns if they all get too fussy.”

Jon chuckled and then handed a much calmer Lyarra to her mother. 

“I’m big enough to do that on my own,” Arya huffed. She was wearing pants to her mother’s slight disapproval, but since they would only be traveling and setting up camp in the Riverlands at the end of the day, her mother didn’t push the issue. She would, however, _ have _to wear a dress once they arrived in Winterfell. 

Jon got on his horse after the girls were settled and they began their ride out. As they began their journey, Jon wondered if he should think about staying North after their visit, perhaps go to the Wall and join the Night Watch with his Uncle Benjen. He was seventeen and people, no matter how much they loved his father and Lady Celia, were beginning to talk. 

He knew it was strange for his father to keep his bastard so close by, especially when he was almost a man grown already. People talked about how sad it must be for Lady Celia to have to care for the son of a woman her husband had loved before her. 

Very few people spoke of Jon’s mother but they all seemed to assume that his mother was the Dornish beauty, Ashara Dayne. He heard it whispered in the halls as he got older but he never felt comfortable talking about his mother to his father. It felt so wrong when it was obvious how much his father loved and cared for Lady Celia. Jon didn’t want to bring any more hurt than there might already be on the subject between them. 

Even so, Jon wondered if it was time for him to go. He would miss his father, Lady Celia, and the girls. 

His father probably always knew that Jon was going to leave one day, but he had no idea what his father wanted him to do. Perhaps Jon could become a knight and serve the realm in some way. His father was friends with the king, surely there would be a way for a bastard like him to earn his way as a knight. 

Lady Celia, he knew, would miss him terribly. Although she never referred to herself as his mother, she was as good as. She had held him when he cried and kissed away his tears and the hurt from scraped knees. Even now she would lick her thumb and wipe away dirt from his cheeks when she noticed. 

Arya would miss him. The oldest of his sisters would probably try to come with him wherever he tried to go. Jon didn’t doubt that. He would miss Arya as well. She was his closest friend. He wouldn’t say closest sister because that seemed rude to the other girls. However, he had spent most of his living memory with Arya somewhere around him. 

Lyarra was a lot like Arya, although she preferred stories and songs more than her older sister. She believed in princes and knights in a different way than Jon did. She always wanted to join him in the training yard, not really to participate but to watch. She would definitely miss him. 

Minisa was a little princess and was an absolutely ruthless tattletale. Jon didn’t doubt that she told her parents almost everything she saw during the day so Jon always knew he had to be on his best behavior when Minisa was around. However, when they were on hand, a lemon cake or two was always a good bribe. Minisa would miss him as well. 

Alarra and Alys were a different story since they were both only three. They would hang off everyone, their favorite person changing almost by the hour. Even if they would spend more of their lives without than with him, he knew they would miss him terribly too. 

He just didn’t want people to think he was taking away their birthright. It’s not what he wanted. 

—

The girls were all sleeping in the carriage around midday. Jon knee it was boring and sometimes the only thing a person could do in a carriage was sleep. Lady Celia probably preferred it too. 

Jon was riding next to his father. He loved these moments of privacy with his father, as few and far between as they were. His father was a busy man, with Harrenhal and the girls. These moments where he could just _ be _with his father meant a lot to Jon. 

“Father?” He looked to Jon. “Could… could you tell me about my mother?” 

He wanted a name. 

Jon knew that people assumed Ashara Dayne was his mother. All his life he had heard whispers of that name in the keep. He had never dared to ask Lady Celia of it. He cared about the woman too much to hurt her feelings. He knew she viewed him as a son in her own way and asking about his mother, the woman her husband had loved before her might be painful. 

He had read up on her and listened to everything he could when the servants gossiped. His father had defeated Arthur Dayne at the Tower of Joy when he was attempting to rescue Jon’s Aunt Lyanna and Lady Ashara has killed herself soon after. 

Everyone assumed his mother was Lady Ashara, but he wanted his father to confirm it. Or maybe he wanted his father to deny it. If his mother was Ashara Dayne, then why did she throw herself from the tower? Why could she not have lived? Was he not enough? Why had she left him? Did she have no care for him at all?

His father looked away, pained. “Let’s not talk of her.”

Jon looked down at his horse’s neck. His father must have truly loved his mother. If she were Ashara, then he might blame himself for her death. Even so, Jon had a right to know. 

“Do you think my mother might be proud of me?”

His father looked at him closely. “Aye, she’d be immensely proud of you, just as I am.”

—

As they finished setting up camp, Jon began to think of Winterfell. 

He was excited to see his uncle again. Uncle Brandon always made sure to take time to pull Jon aside and help him with something or another or gift him something Stark related. _ This was your grandfather’s sword belt. It’s not so new and Robb already got one for his birthday, but I know you’d appreciate it. _And stuff like that. 

His Aunt Catelyn spent as little time in Jon’s presence as possible. While she did not begrudge him for being born long before her sister and his father had married, he knew that she believed he shouldn’t have grown up with her sister treating him like a son. 

He was glad to see Robb again. His cousin was the same age as he was and the two wrote each other often. They would spar and they were almost evenly matched, although Jon had more wins than his cousin did. They were like brothers, in truth and Jon could not wait to see him again. 

Bran was thirteen now and Jon wondered how much he had changed since he had last seen him. The boy took an interest in knights and tales of valor the last Jon had seen him. He wondered what it was he wished to do once he got just a little older. 

Rickon would be ten and Jon could hardly believe how big he would probably be. Last he saw him he had been hanging on Lady Stark’s skirts. Jon wasn’t sure what he would do with so many younger boys. He was too use to the girls, he supposed. 

He had tried not to let his mind wander, but his thoughts went to Sansa. She was fifteen now and he wondered how much she might have changed. She was probably still radiant, with her bright smiles and kind eyes.

He should not have let her kiss him. He should not have let himself kiss her back, if only for a second. She was his uncle’s only daughter and he was his father’s bastard. What right did he have to even look at her?

None. 

He had none. 

Perhaps she was betrothed. Perhaps she was promised to another man now and he would have to watch her be happy with some lordling that actually deserved her. 

That night, Jon dreamed that he was his father and Lady Celia’s eldest son. He dreamed that he could kiss Sansa without worry. He dreamed that he could take her back to Harrenhal and love her as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of Jon’s first memories is of Celia taking him in as a son! 😭  
What did you think of Jon’s thoughts on his sisters and his thinking about leaving?  
It always annoyed me that Ned didn’t even tell Jon that his mother was dead. That annoyed the heck out of me that Jon would always wonder where his mother was, possibly hoping to see her or find her one day.  
And what did you think of Jon’s thoughts on Sansa?


	5. Sansa I

Sansa watched as her uncle and aunt and their family made their way into Winterfell. She stood between Robb and Bran as their uncle entered upon his horse, the carriage after them. She saw  _ him  _ as well. 

Her uncle dismounted from his horse and went to the carriage. He opened the door and Minisa and Lyarra practically flew out. 

“Uncle Brandon!” Minisa shouted. 

“Robb!” Lyarra yelled even louder. 

Sansa’s older brother let out an  _ oof  _ when Lyarra ran directly into his legs, wrapping her arms around them. Her father bent down and picked Minisa up briefly and pressed a kiss to her cheek before setting her down. 

Although she had not met them, Sansa knew who the twins were. The little girls were looking about Winterfell in awe and Sansa had to giggle at their appearance. They looked so utterly amazed. 

Arya was wearing a dress, which Sansa could only guess was not what she wanted to wear. 

“Ned,” her father said with a broad smile. 

“Brandon,” her uncle said with a slow smile that looked like his son’s. “I see Winterfell hasn’t gone to ruin yet.”

Sansa’s father pulled Uncle Ned into a hug. “Can’t. Cat won’t let me.” Her father turned to her aunt. “Celia, have  _ you  _ been keeping my brother in line?”

Her aunt laughed. “As much as I am able. But he’s less of a handful than you are.” She kissed her husband on the cheek. “What do you, Cat? Any tales to regale of your boys running about the castle amuck.”

Her mother laughed. “I’m afraid we have too much to report on that end.”

Aunt Celia smiled and turned her attention to Sansa and her siblings. “They’ve all grown. I fear I may end up the shortest in our family soon.”

Sansa smiled and turned to glance at  _ him  _ again. 

Jon Rivers had grown more handsome since he had been gone. He looked a bit like his father, but there was something in his features that did not match the Stark look. She could only guess that they came from his mother. His dark curls were pulled back into a bun and he wore his usual black although Sansa could see that her aunt had him wearing a deep blue shirt underneath his tunic. Yes, he was just as handsome as he had always been. 

She thought of the brief kiss they had shared on his last visit. Sansa could remember pressing her lips against his in thanks and when she had pulled away, his lips had followed against hers for only a moment before they had both found themselves apologizing. 

She had dreamed of that kiss so often she sometimes feared it had only been that: a dream. 

Jon looked at her and Sansa found herself blushing. He looked away quickly and began to help the servants with his family’s luggage, his gaze not returning for the rest of their time in the courtyard. 

—

Her father held a small feast for supper to welcome their extended family back to Winterfell. Her aunt had brought lemons to Winterfell and they would be able to have an abundance of lemon cakes during their visit. Sansa sat near Jon and she kept stealing glances at him throughout the meal. 

He spent a majority of his time talking to Robb or Arya and Sansa just wanted to scream at him to look at her. He had barely acknowledged her presence at all. 

What if he had truly regretted the kiss?

What if it had meant nothing to him?

What if he had spent his years away kissing other girls? Southron girls with golden white hair? Girls that were, in truth, ones he preferred in appearance?

What if he was betrothed? What if there was a girl down South he was promised to?

Sansa did not know if she could take it if he was. 

“Jon,” Sansa began and he froze ever so slightly he did not look at her but turned his body towards her. “How is it down South? Have you seen any tournaments recently?”

“I haven’t, my lady,” he said, still not looking at her. 

“It’s a shame, you are so wonderful with a sword, I imagine you would win every time and be able to claim a queen of love and beauty if you wanted.”

His cheeks turned the lightest shade of pink. “I do not think I am so good as that, my lady.”

“You can just call me Sansa, Jon.”

He did not reply to that. Still he did not look at her. 

“Would you dance with me, Jon?” she asked as the music began to slow into a song where one might be able to. 

“I am afraid I’d only step on your toes, my lady.”

He still did not look at her. 

“Jon—”

“I shall dance with you, my sweet sister,” Robb said, standing up. He offered his hand to her. “Since you are so inclined to. Besides, I can promise that I won’t step on your toes.”

Sansa glanced at Jon and found him staring intently at his plate. She took her brother’s hand and he led her into the floor so they might dance.

Robb took one hand in his and placed the other on her back as they began to dance. “You shouldn’t push him Sansa,” he said. “You shouldn’t play with him like that.”

She looked up at him in annoyance. “I am not playing with him,” she said. “I mean every word. I wanted him to dance with me. I want him to just simply look at me.”

“We aren’t children anymore, Sansa. You are the eldest daughter of the Starks. Your hand is the most sought after in all of Westeros, second only to perhaps Princess Arianne of Dorne.”

“But Jon—”

“Is a bastard,” Robb said with finality. “The bastard of a nobleman, of our uncle, but a bastard nonetheless.”

“But I love him, Robb,” Sansa whispered. “I’ve loved him since I was a little girl.”

Her brother looked at her sadly. He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “I’m sorry, Sansa, but it could never be. Jon’s a good man. One of the best, if I’m honest. But father would never approve.”

“Father likes Jon.”

“Yes, as our uncle’s son and as his nephew, not as a possible suitor to you, sweet sister.”

Sansa looked away. She returned to her seat after her dance with Robb and did not get up for another dance for the rest of the night. 

—

Sansa managed to corner Jon by himself in the stables. She knew that he often came to the stables to think and take care of his family’s horses, specifically her aunts to the point it was almost spoiled, however the creature was perhaps the sweetest of its kind, even the twins, apparently, could ride her as long as adult was with them. 

“Why have you been ignoring me?” she asked.

Jon continued to brush her aunt’s mare. “I haven’t been ignoring you, my lady.”

“No,” Sansa said with a cold laugh. “You have just never acknowledged my presence.”

“It is not right, my lady.”

“Sansa, Jon. Call me Sansa as you used to.”

“I’ve no right to call you that, my lady.”

“But you can call Robb and Arya and everyone else by their names?”

“It’s different.”

Sansa held onto his arm, pulling him until he was facing her. “How?” she asked. “How is it any different from calling me by my name?” She looked up at him hopefully trying to pull his gaze towards her. “Is it because of the kiss?” She felt him tense under her hand. “Did it mean something to you as it did for me?”

“It was a mistake,” Jon told her, his grey eyes finally gracing a look into her blue ones. “It was a mistake and it shouldn’t have happened.”

“It wasn’t,” Sansa’s grip tightened on his arm as she stepped closer to him, her space invading his own. “It wasn’t.” She looked at him with determination. “You kissed me  _ back. _ ”

“It was instinct,” he said quickly. “It didn’t mean  _ anything. _ ”

Images of Jon kissing other girls, of Jon chasing the lips of someone else, fluttered into her mind and Sansa let go of his hand. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” he said. “I shouldn’t have let you kiss me, Sansa. It was wrong. I shouldn’t have let you believed I felt anything but brotherly affection for you. I returned your kiss on instinct,  _ nothing _ more.”

“You’re lying,” she whispered, searching his eyes for a clue. “I know it meant something. Jon, please.”

“It meant nothing,” he repeated, his eyes looking deeply into her own. “Nothing.”

Sansa stepped away from him as she felt a pressure begin to build in her nose. She turned on her heels and walked quickly to her rooms. She refused to let him see her cry. She refused to let anyone see her cry. 

As soon as she reached her rooms, Sansa closed the door and sat on her bed to cry. 

—

Sansa spent much of her time avoiding Jon then. She could not bear to look at him, could not bear to be near him when she was forced to spend time around him. Robb looked at her sadly, but said nothing at all to her on the subject again. 

She shut herself away to work on a new dress or a new sewing project with her aunt. She refused to spend anymore time with Jon than she had to. It hurt far too much for her to bear.

She felt almost like a ghost in her own home. Had she read the situation so wrong? Was her mother right in the belief that bastards were so bass that they did not care who they entangled themselves with? 

No, no, Sansa refused to believe it. 

The Jon she had grown up knowing was kind, brave, gentle, and strong. He wasn’t like the bastards her mother seemed to believe they were. 

Jon was kind. He always looked after her when Robb or Arya’s teasing became too much. 

Jon was brave. He had once set himself between her and a skittish horse when they were children. 

Jon was gentle. The way he took care of and indulged his younger sisters had made Sansa love him all the more. 

Jon was strong. Even her father said Jon had the makings of being one of the greatest swordsmen. 

Jon was everything Sansa ever wanted in a husband. She didn’t care if he could not give her a castle. She did not care if he was some lordling that would inherit some noble name or keep. Jon was Jon. He would take care of her. 

She could not believe he was base. 

Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard her uncle shouting. “I will not dishonor you like that!” his voice came from behind the door to her father’s solar. “I will not!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa sewing Jon again and thinking of the kiss!  
Jon being an idiot and ignoring Sansa! Robb trying to give brotherly advise!  
Jon lying about the kiss being a mistake!  
Sansa overthinking about Jon!
> 
> What do you think Ned is reacting to?


	6. Brandon I

Brandon could remember the last rime his brother had been this angry. Of course, he hadn’t been there himself, he had simply heard of it through a letter from Ned about the incident. Even in writing, Brandon could feel his brother’s rage eminating from every pen stroke. 

A Riverlord had apparently approached Ned, not long after the twins had been born, and had dared to suggest that he set Celia aside and marry another, younger, woman who might bear him a trueborn son. The man had even dared to suggest his own daughter. 

Brandon knew his brother well enough to guess the sort of rage he went into at such an insult to himself and his wife and the years they had put into their marriage. 

Nothing, however, compared to the utter devistation and self-loathing he saw cross his brother’s features when Celia asked Brandon if he might write to Robert to have Jon legitimized. 

“I will not dishonor you like that!” Ned shouted. “I will not!”

“Ned,” Celia said, putting her hand on his arm. He wretched it away and began to pace. 

“Celia,” Cat said. “Be reasonable. You can’t expect your husband’s bastard to become his heir.”

“Jon would make a great lord,” Celia insisted. “He’s already been learning and I know he has the capacity for it.” She turned to him. “Brandon, surely you can see that too.”

He could. Jon was a good lad. He reminded Brandon of all the good parts of his younger siblings. But sometimes he could see a bit of fire in him. It wasn’t dangerous like Rhaegar’s, but it was fire none the less. However, Brandon also knew the other reasons as to why Ned did not want Jon legitimized. 

“There is still a chance of you having a boy, Celia,” he told her gently. 

She looked away and put a hand to her flat belly. “And if I never do? I love my daughter, but Arya is not made to be the lady of a keep, much less Harrenhal. She will never have a choice when it comes to her being a lady, but we can at least offer her more options.”

“I will not dishonor you by naming Jon my heir,” Ned said, returning to stand in front of Celia. He held herface in his hands and pressed his forehead to hers. “My heir should be  _ our  _ son, love.”

Celia smiled so sweetly it broke Brandon’s heart. She put her hand over her husband’s. “And if I can’t bear you a son? You know as well as I that no matter how hard we push, Arya will not conform into the role of lady of a keep.”

“Celia, there’s always a chance.”

“What if Jon is the only son you will ever know? Even though I love you and I know you love me,” she sounded uncertain in the last part of that statement, “what if our children are all we will have? Jon is your son and Ash—” she paused. “Perhaps I was never meant to bear you a son and that is why Jon’s mother was placed in your path.” She kissed his lips for a second. “Think about it, Ned. Please.”

—

Brandon watched from the balcony as Jon trainer with his sword. The sound of steel hitting steel brought him back to the Tower of Joy. He could smell the copper of his sister’s blood. Of the smoke and and salt of the stones around them. He could see his brother kneeling next to Lyanna as she breathed her last, whispering something urgent to Ned before his baby sister closed her eyes forever. 

_ She didn’t even know he was a boy _ , Ned had breathed, his voice tight with emotion.  _ They hadn’t even told her that her child was a boy. She thought the babe was a girl and named her Visenya.  _ Ned began to sob.  _ They didn’t even give her a chance to properly name him.  _

He remembered returning to Starfall and Ned learning that Ashara had lost their son. He remembered Ned giving her her brother’s sword. He remembered her screaming at Ned and pounding against his chest as she sobbed uncontrollably. He remembered the next day learning that Ashara had flung herself into the sea. 

Brandon remembered Ned becoming despondent. He had locked himself in his room and Brandon had worried that he might cause himself harm. He had forced himself into Ned’s room. There was a light wound on his wrist, but he held to Jon tightly, refusing to let go even when Brandon asked him to so he might wrap the slight wound. 

He remembered Ned breaking down in his arms and begging Brandon to let him claim the boy, Jon, as his own. 

_ Please _ , his voice was barely a whisper and cracked with emotion.  _ Please.  _

Brandon had done what he could for his brother. Setting his brother up in Harrenhal was a wise decision. People in the North might have noticed something in Jon if he had been around them for a long period of time. Harrenhal was huge and it would keep Ned busy and away from Robert so the man wouldn’t learn the truth. 

The marriage to Celia had been for both of them. He had heard the rumors of Celia while they traveled with the army, while they had taken King’s Landing. Whispers that  _ the Mad King might have raped the Tully girl _ had found their way around the camp. Most were disgusted with the king, other commented how the poor girl would likely live in disgrace for the rest of her life. 

_ Just as Lyanna, had she lived.  _

Brandon hadn’t been able to protect his sister, but perhaps he could protect the girl that was his sister through marriage. 

He had approached his good father to make the request and Hoster Tully had agreed almost imidiately. Ned was a good man and the old Tully knew that Ned would not hold a rumor against her. 

However, Brandon had not realized that the ghost of Ashara would haunt the marriage because of Jon. 

Gods, Brandon wished he could shake his brother and make him see reason. Celia deserves the truth. She deserved to know that Ned had stopped loving Ashara years ago. That his whole heart belonged to Celia. She had a right to know. 

“I’m sorry, Jon,” Brandon whispered. If there was a chance that Celia might have another child, might have a son, be could not risk bringing Jon to the king’s attention. 

—

Cat curled against Brandon’s chest. 

“It is one thing for Ned to raise the boy with my sister’s children. It’s another for the boy to be be his heir.”

Brandon closed his eyes and nodded. It wasn’t a good idea. It would bring attention to him. Robert might find out. 

_ Promise me, Ned _ , his sister had whispered. 

“Do you think there’s a chance of them having a boy of their own?” his wife asked him. 

“I do,” Brandon said. “I truly do.”

—

A raven came telling them Jon Arryn was dead. The world seemed to shift and Brandon knew nothing would be the same. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys were right.


	7. Celia II

Another raven came telling them that the king was coming to Winterfell to see  _ all  _ the Starks and that he was going to ask Ned to be his Hand. 

—

Ned was angry, she could feel it. He was a wolf pushed into a corner emotionally and he didn’t know what to do except act out and Celia took it all in strides. 

The night the ravens came, Celia knew her husband would be in no mood to talk that night. However, she knew that he needed to. Celia knew her husband did not want to go to King’s Landing. She would  _ not  _ go at all. She had refused to step foot in that place if she could help it. She could not bare to enter that place again.

Celia moves freely as her husband crowded her against the desk in their room. He was like a man possessed by the wolf of his house’s sigil. He ripped her night gown from her body and began to devour her. His lips and tongue traced every inch of her body that they could reach as his fingers dug into her hips. He thrust into her hungrily as though trying to bury whatever emotion he was feeling deep inside her, to find his absolution as deep as he could sink into her. 

Celia cried out with every thrust as he bit into her shoulder, holding back a howl of pleasure as she made herself squeeze around him. 

“Celia—” he choked on her name. 

“Harder,” she breathed. “Oh, gods, harder!”

He picked her up, still buried in her, and carried her to their bed. He laid her down, barely pulling out before slamming back in. “Celia—” he grunted and she knew he was near his release. “Gods, Celia…”

She felt him shudder as he spilled inside her. Her head fell back upon her pillow as she released herself. “Ned!”

He continued to rut into her as she came around him and soon he was still and sinking into her, holding onto her as tightly as he could. Ned rolled them onto his back and Celia slid off his hips as she curled into his side. 

“I’m so sorry, Ned,” she whispered. “Jon was a good man.” Good enough that he named his only son for him. 

She watched as her husband covered his face with his hand and he shuttered a breath. Celia pressed her cheek against his chest and rubbed her hand across his belly as she did with the children when they were upset. 

“I want to try for another child,” Ned whispered. “Please.”

Celia sat up and leaned over him, her hair boiling beside his head. “Ned.”

“One more,” he said, sitting up. “One more.” He put his hand on her belly. “We may have a son yet.”

“Ned, you know what Robert plans to ask you.”

“I’ll refuse. Robert will understand. I don’t want to go where you cannot go with me. Someone else can be his hand.”

“Ned.”

“I want another babe with you. Even if we already had ten sons, I would want another babe with you.” He kissed her sweetly, his lips pressing against her with such gentle devotion. “Please, Celia.”

She smiled at him gently as her hand trailed down his belly and went lower. “I suppose we should keep trying then.”

Her husband’s eyes grew dark as a growl came from the back of his throat. 

She was on her back in a matter of seconds. 

—

Celia awoke to the door to their room opening and the sound of small feet on the floor. Ned grumbled beside her as she pulled away to get off the bed. She helped the twins up, passing Alarra to Ned’s open and waiting arms. Celia picked Alys up and settled them both into bed between her and Ned. 

“Did you have a nightmare, sweetling?” Ned’s voice was rough and knew that he was barely awake and had asked the question on instinct. 

“Scary,” Alys whimpered. 

“Shhh,” Celia said stroking Alarra’s hair as she pressed a kiss to Alys’ curls. “Everything is okay. What did you dream, my little wolves?”

“Raven,” Alarra said, holding up her fingers. “Three eyes.”

“Dragon,” Alys whispered. Celia could see Ned awake at the word. “Black dragon.”

Nes pulled the three of them close to his chest. “It’s okay, sweetling,” he said gently. “It was only a dream.”

—

“Celia, you can’t seriously want to have Jon legitimized.”

“Cat, we have been over this. I am quite certain it’s what needs to be done.”

“There’s always a chance—”

“And there’s always a chance that I might not!” Celia shouted. “I know you worry for me, Cat, but I’m not a child anymore, I can make my own decisions. There’s a change upon the wind, I can feel it and Arya is not ready to step up as the future lady of a keep, if she ever is, and the other girls are far too young. Even if I am able to have a son, he would be much too young, especially if Ned is to go to King’s Landing. I  _ need  _ Jon with me. He’s ready. He’s a good boy, Cat, I wish you can see it. Sometimes I try to see Ashara in him, and gods damn me, but all I see is Ned and I can just pretend that he is  _ mine. _ He deserves a future. He deserves a good one. Without him, I don’t know what I would have done to myself all those years ago.”

Cat was quiet for a moment and simply held Celia as she began to cry. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter today! I’ll try to make it up tomorrow!


	8. Sansa II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will now begin posting at a normal schedule of Saturday and Sunday every week for this fic.

They found direwolves. 

While her father, uncle, brothers, and cousin had gone out to execute a man who had fled the Night Watch, they had come upon two dead direwolves. Both were female and had litters of their own, although they could tell that one set was older and another pup didn’t seem to belong to either of them. Bran had apparently talked their father into allowing them to bring the pups home to the rest of them. While Sansa’s mother wasn’t exactly thrilled, she allowed it, especially when one of the pups gave her a small lick on the cheek. Sansa was certain her heart melted just a little bit towards the orphaned puppies because of that. 

They all picked out a pup, even though there was one less than all of them. 

Sansa and her siblings all found their pups in the older litter. Robb’s pup had smokey grey fur and yellow eyes. He seemed like a natural leader amongst the rest of the puppies. Robb named him Grey Wind for how fast the pup had bolted to him as soon as it was set down. Sansa has named her own direwolf Lady for how polite she appeared to be. She was grey as well, although she had some brown in her fur, and yellow eyes. Bran’s pup was a silvery grey and he named him Summer. Rickon’s wolf was black with bright green eyes and named him Shaggydog. They all tried to say he could name him literally anything else, but Rickon was determined. 

Sansa’s cousins picked from the second, younger litter. Arya names her direwolf, a grey wolf with dark golden eyes, Nymeria. Lyarra’s wolf was black with blue eyes and named Shadow. Minisa has a brown wolf with green eyes and named her Jenny. Alarra and Alys put all their childish affection onto only one of the wolves, a pale grey one with mismatched brown and blue eyes, they named Echo. 

Jon tried to offer the last pup to one of his youngest sisters but neither of them wanted the white pup. 

“Yours,” Alarra said, returning her attention to Echo. 

Jon held the albino puppy in his arms and Sansa could see he was near tears at the fact that he now had one of his own. Bran had told Sansa that when Jon had counted all the pups he had said there was one for each of them, never counting himself. 

“What will you name him?” Sansa asked. 

“He hasn’t made a sound since I’ve picked him up,” Jon said, looking down at the tiny beast. “Ghost, I think.”

Sansa smiled. “Ghost. It’s a lovely name.”

She saw his cheeks turn a light shade of pink, but he did not return his gaze to her afterwards. 

—

They celebrated Bran’s fourteenth nameday with a smaller family supper. Because the king would be arriving sooner rather than later, they needed to save some of their resources for the feast they would be expected to hold. 

Bran had always been the more quiet of his brothers. Their father said he was a lot like Their Uncle Ned or Benjen. Bran had always seemed to prefer their uncle in the Night Watch, hanging on his every word as they listened to the stories he told of beyond the wall. 

Sansa stole glances towards Jon throughout the supper. She knew he would not be allowed to sit with them all when the king and queen arrived. The queen was notoriously intolerant of bastards, mainly because almost everyone knew that the king had probably more than two handfuls of bastards of his own. Sansa’s aunt had apologized profusely at the fact that Jon would not be able to sit with them. Jon has merely smiled and pressed a kiss to her aunt’s head and told her it was alright and that he understood. 

The supper was a good one, full of laughter and jokes that only made sense to half of them. And then there were the stories their parents and uncle and aunt told of their childhoods, trying to one up the other in embarrassing ones. 

“Your aunt threatened to put a live fish in my bed when she was twelve,” Sansa’s father said. 

Her Aunt Celia turned bright pink as Uncle Ned chuckled.

“Only if you made Cat cry,” Uncle Ned said. “Lyanna, Benjen and I were ready to help her with it too if it came down to it.”

They all laughed and continued to speak until Bran stood up. 

“I have something I would like to say.” Everyone gave him their full attention. “I’ve already spoken about it with Mother and Father, and although she doesn’t really approve, she does not wish to deny me my choice. I have decided to join the Night Watch after the king and his family leave to return to King’s Landing.” Almost all of them began to speak at once, but Bran silenced them. “I once thought of becoming a knight, but the Starks have manned the Wall for thousands of years and they shall for a thousand more. I don’t think I was ever meant to be a knight or lord, but rather the shield to the realm of men.”

Sansa felt tears begin to prick her eyes. She could see her younger brother now, dressed in black, looking as noble as their uncle. He would be just as noble as he ever was. Her older brother and Jon patted him on the back as her father and uncle began to speak with him on his choice. 

—

As Sansa slept, she found herself in the stables, curled next to her brothers and the other little ones. She lifted her head and sniffed the air, sensing something changing on the wind. It sent a shiver down her spine. Lions. She had smelled a lion once. It felt like ages ago, but she had smelled them. She stood on shaky paws, yawning and stretching her legs, her foot pressing into her brother’s snout. 

Sansa padded over to the lone wolf. His mother had died back home in the distant land that was much colder than where they were now.

She nudged him with her nose and he yawned, blinking up at her. He licked at her chin and Sansa settled in next to him. He was a little larger than she was since he was older than her, so her curled around her and rested his head next to hers.

Sansa fell into a deeper sleep, of dragons and princes and monsters of ice. 

—

Sansa watched as the visitors poured through the castle gates. Knights and Bannerman flooded into the courtyard. The crowned stag of House Baratheon flew above them all. Sansa recognizes some of the men based on their appearances. She could recognize Ser Jaime Lannister, Sandor Clegane, and the Imp, Tyrion Lannister. There was a boy about her age and Sansa could only guess he was the crown prince, Joffrey Lannister. He was handsome, she supposed, but she did not fully like how he looked about Winterfell in disinterest. Then again, most boys and men didn’t hold much interest when Sansa compared them to Jon. 

Sansa waited to catch a glimpse of the king. Her father and uncle had told them all plenty of stories when it came to the Baratheon man who had defeated the young dragon. There was a man flanked by two knights of the Kingsguard, but he was huge and fat and Sansa doubted—

“Ned!” the man roared, pulling her uncle into a bone-crunching hug. “It’s good to see you! Not so frozen since you’ve been living in the south!” He looked her uncle over. “You haven’t changed at all.” Before her uncle could speak he took her aunts hand and kissed it. “And little Celia, you have not changed at all! I shall promise to be on my best behavior so I do not find a fish in my bed.”

Her aunt gave a nervous smile and leaned into her husband slightly when the king turned his attention to Sansa’s father. 

“It’s good to see you, Brandon,” he said. “How fares the North?”

“As well as it has for the past thousand years,” her father said. “Winterfell is yours, your grace.”

They all bowed and curtsied. 

The king waved them off as the others in the party began to dismount from their steeds. The queen, Cersei Lannister, came from the carriage with her two younger children. Sansa’s father greeted the queen with a kiss to her hand. 

“You already know my wife,” the king said. “And these are my children. My heir, Joffrey, and then Myrcella and Tommen after that.”

“Allow me to introduce you to my children,” her father said after greeting the princes and princess. “My eldest, Robb, then Sansa, Bran, and Rickon.”

The king looked them over. “Fine boys you have and a girl that takes after her mother, thank the gods.”

Her father chuckled. 

“And these are my children,” her uncle said. “My eldest, Arya, Lyarra, Minisa, and the twins Alarra and Alys.”

Sansa knew he could not officially introduce Jon, but she felt sorry that her cousin could not be. Besides, the king had met Jon when he was only a baby. 

The king’s gaze, however remained planted on Arya and Sansa could have sworn she saw tears forming in the man’s eyes. No sooner had she noticed them, the king blinked them away. “Take me to the crypt, Ned. I would pay my respects.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You get a direwolf and YOU get a direwolf!  
Bran’s going to join the Night Watch!?!?  
Sansa warring into Lady to rest next to Ghost!  
The royal family arrives!!


	9. Arya II

Arya felt sorry that Sansa had to escort Prince Joffrey to the feast. She was so obviously uninterested as the Baratheon boy listed off all the ways King’s Landing was better. While the prince was handsome, Arya knew her cousin would much rather spend her time with Jon. She spotted her older brother brooding in the corner with some of the men the king had brought. He was brooding more than usual and Arya could only guess that it was because of Sansa. 

Arya could a slowly see that Sansa was wearing one of her masks, at least that’s what she called it. Her face was kind but blank and did not let the prince know how utterly bored she was.

Arya could see her parents speaking quietly and urgently, occasionally looking towards the king who had one of the servant girls in his lap. It was disgusting and Arya felt sorry for the queen. It was one thing to have a bastard or two, but it was another to flaunt a conquest in front of her. She thought about her mother and Jon. So many people talked about how much of a dishonor it was that her father gave Jon the same education Uncle Brandon gave Robb. What people didn’t understand was Arya’s mother encouraged it. 

“Your daughter is quite pretty,” she heard the queen say to her Aunt Catelyn. “Such a little flower doesn’t deserve to stay hidden in the North.”

Arya held back an eye roll. The queen didn’t know Sansa at all. While Sansa was a Southron beauty, she had the blood of winter running through her veins. 

“What do you think of the prince?” Arya asked her cousin. 

“He thinks too highly of himself. He boasted being a great sword fighter but refused to spar with Robb.”

Arya snickered. “The baby.”

Sansa smiled and shushed her. “What of Tommen?”

“A child, but he seems sweet enough, I suppose. But boring, though.”

“Myrcella seems nice, if a bit insipid,” Sansa said, trying to give some praise. “How do you deal with all those southerners all the time?”

“With great difficulty.”

Sansa laughed. Arya glances over and saw Jon frowning before downing a drink and storming off. She then glanced at the high table and found the queen and crown prince looking at Sansa. 

She didn’t like their gaze. 

—

“I wil not dishonor you like that!” Arya winced as she heard her father yell. “We still have time, Celia.” His voice was quiet then. “We still have time.”

“And when we don’t? You know that Arya is not ready to be the heir, to take up your responsibilities. Jon is. He would make a great lord and Arya might be free just a while longer.”

Arya leaned against the door and listened in. She hadn’t known her parents were arguing about making Jon her father’s heir. To be honest, Arya wasn’t certain how she felt about it. She would be free, at least a little more than she was before. However, what would people think of her mother? Would people think less of her?

Were people already thinking this because of how Arya acted? Was she pushing her mother to this?

No. Her mother loved Jon. Arya knew that. Her father knew that. 

“If you’re worried about me, Ned, I’m fine. Jon is my son. He may not have my blood, but I can give him a name. Please, Ned. Please.”

Arya wondered what Jon might think of their father and her mother were arguing about him. 

—

Arya sat in on the sewing circle and was surprised that the queen wasn’t there. The princess was there and even a few of the noble ladies who had been a part of the queen’s retinue were there. No one said anything about the queen’s absence.

“Where is your mother, Princess Myrcella?” Sansa asked. 

“Oh, my mother never joins the sewing circles,” the princess said. “They’re boring and mother prefers to spend her afternoons with my Uncle Jaime.” She leaned in to whisper. “She doesn’t care for some of the ladies, if you know what I mean.”

Arya did know what the princess meant and thought it was a cowardly thing to do. She wasn’t taking an active part amongst the ladies. Even if they were her husband’s mistresses, how could she let them chase her away from what should rightfully be her domain? How could she act as though it were so unimportant? As though it was beneath her?

Was this how Arya’s mother felt when Arya kept putting these things down?

Arya frowned. She supposed the queen wasn’t half the woman Arya’s mother was.

—

Arya and Sansa shared a bed since the king had brought more people than he had initially said he would. The two of them had shared a bed a few time when they were younger and whenever they visited Riverrun. 

“Jon seemed upset that the prince was giving you so much attention,” Arya said with a small smile. 

Sansa, however, did not return it. “He was probably only jealous because he is a bastard,” she said softly. 

Arya narrowed her eyes. That was not the reply she expected. “Sansa?”

“He…” She bit her lip. “The last time you were all here, I kissed Jon.”

“I know,” Arya admitted. “I saw.”

Sansa blushed. “He said it was a mistake.” Tears began to catch on her lashes. “Father has already begun to talk of engagements, but I don’t think I could stand marrying anyone else.”

“Talk to your father, I’m sure—”

“I can’t be like Aunt Lyanna. What if I… I can’t be so selfish.”

Arya hugged her cousin tightly. “My parents are arguing about legitimizing Jon,” she told her in a whisper. “Maybe Uncle will allow it if he has the Stark name and becomes the heir of Harrenhal.”

Sansa pulled away slightly. “But you’re the heir of Harrenhal.”

“It’s not me. You’re not the only one stuck with a duty you don’t want. Just pray, Sansa. Pray and hope the gods listen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about posting so early. I’m in the UK right now and my phone won’t let me use my travel pass for some stupid reason.
> 
> Jon being jealous! Hehehe!  
Arya unsure of how she feels about her father and mother talking about legitimizing Jon.  
Arya judging the queen for not taking an interest in womanly things.  
Sansa worrying about her feelings for Jon.
> 
> Next POV is Ned with some hot moments between him and our girl Celia!


	10. Ned II

“I have a son,” Robert said quietly. “You have a daughter. We should combine our houses.”

Ned felt his stomach begin to twist in a knot. “I’m not sure, Robert. They’re so young.”

“A betrothal does not mean marriage right away.”

“They’re both only fifteen,” Ned said softly. Arya was not queen material. She was barely lady of the keep material. “Children. They’re still children.”

“Children they might be, but you have four other daughters yet. Think of what such a connection would do with them.”

“Arya is my heir. She is the heir to Harrenhal and I cannot let her leave. Celia needs her daughter with her. She… you were not there when we lost the baby. I don’t think she could handle having a child lost to her again, even like this.” Ned hated using his son as an excuse, but perhaps Robert would understand. 

“You have a son already.”

Ned had to bite back the anger that bubbles in his chest. 

“Let me legitimize Ashara’s boy and you need not worry about your heir.”

How could he not understand? “I will not disrespect Celia that way. I hurt her enough as it was in the beginning of our marriage because of this. I will not put my bastard before our trueborn children. We… Robert, we’re trying to have another baby. Celia needs Arya with her.”

Robert was quite for a moment. He looked at Ned with scrutiny and Ned worried that he had over sold the reason for not legitimizing Jon. 

“If I cannot combine our houses as they always should have been, come to King’s Landing as my Hand.”

“I can barely tolerate Southron politics as it is,” Ned said. “I would not make a good Hand, Robert.”

“I will have one or the other at the very least, Ned.”

“Are we not friends, Robert?”

“Is that not why I’m asking?”

Ned did not answer. 

—

Ned hitched Celia’s leg over the crook of his arm as he continued to rut into her. She sighed beneath him as she rolled her hips up to meet him. His face was buried in her shoulder, his lips pressed against her collar. 

“Celia,” he whispered softly. “ _ Celia _ .”

“Ned,” she moaned. “Oh, Ned.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. Her heel dug into his back to urge him forward. “Harder, my Ned. My love, my wolf.”

“That’s it,” he groaned as his hips began to snap into hers. “That’s it!”

It did not take long for them to find their release together. Ned shifted them so he laid on his back and she rested in his chest. His wife snuggled closer to him, her warm breath fanning over his chest. They stayed there for a long moment in silence. 

“Ned?”

“Hm?”

“Please have the king legitimize Jon.”

He tightened his arm around her. His other hand brushed against her flat stomach. “We will have a son soon. I know it.”

“I would feel more secure if you made Jon your heir. Even if we have a son,” her voice broke at the word. “Even if we do, it will be a long time yet before he could take up his duties and I will have no one to lean on while you are gone.”

“I am not leaving you.”

“Robert needs you. I feel as though something dark has come upon that family. Even if it is for only a little while, I feel as though you are going to leave me.” Celia pushed herself up slightly and kissed his jaw. “Please, Ned. Let me give Jon your name.”

“I can’t, Celia,” he whispered to her. 

_ I’m sorry, Lyanna,  _ he thought.  _ I want my own son as my heir. _

—

Ned worries when his brother called himself, Celia and Cat into his solar. 

“What is it, Brandon?” Cat asked as she saw the parchment in his hand. 

“I have just received a letter from your sister Lysa.”

“Lysa?” Celia asked. “Whatever could she want?”

“She has written to claim that Jon Arryn was murdered.”

“What?” Cat said, aghast. 

“She claimes that it’s was the Lannisters and they wish to overthrow Robert.”

Ned sucked in a breath and Celia took hold of his arm and wrapped her arms around his. “But why would they do that?”

“She doesn’t say,” Brandon replied. “But I feel as though it might be true. I don’t trust the Lannisters at. Not the Kingslayer or his queen sister. Much less the Imp. And even less their father.” His gaze turned to Ned. “You should take up the king’s offer as Band.”

Celia’s hold tightened. 

“You know why I don’t want to do that, Brandon,” he said. “Besides, you know what he wants. Arya cannot replace Lyanna and she cannot be queen.”

“You should take Arya with you,” Cat said. “Pretend to test the waters of a betrothal and investigate. If you find nothing, come home, both of you.”

“I cannot,” Ned said. “I will not use my daughter in that way.”

Celia hugged his arm tightly. 

“Ned, this could be murder.”

“I will not got back South any further than I have. I will not step foot in King’s Landing.” He out his hand on Celia’s own. “I will not be forced to stay there.”

“What if you didn’t have to stay there?” Celia whispered. They all looked to her. “What if you sent me a coded letter should you find anything, whether Lysa’s words be true or not. I will then send a letter telling you that I am pregnant, even if I am not, and beg for you to be returned to me.” She looked up at him. “Perhaps I can even have Maester Luwin or someone else write and say I am lying about how well the pregnancy seems to be going and you could demand Robert let you and Arya return home.”

Ned pressed his forehead against hers. 

“Think on it, Ned. Please. We owe it to Jon for going to war for you.”

—

Celia rode him as he drove his hips up into hers. She was crying out with such pleasure that Ned had to keep himself from spending in her in that moment. He loved watching his wife move above him. Her head back, mouth open as she let her cries free against the wind. Trout she may be, but she was a wolf in their bed. 

“Oh, Ned. Ned!”

“Yes. Yes. Yes!”

He turned them into her back and began to drive into her more fiercely. He needed… Gods, he needed…

“Celia!” He collapsed against her, buried as deep as he could. She gasped for breath beneath him and held onto him tightly. “Love.. Celia, love.”

“You’re going to go, aren’t you?” she asked him. 

“I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

She looked up at him. “If you go, I want you to tell Arya why you are going. Why she might have to go to. It might help if she played among.”

Ned nodded, but he still did not know if he would agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Ned


	11. Jon II

Lady Celia was tutting about him as she took measurements for his clothes. “Another inch,” she muttered. “Another inch last spring. I am raising a giant.”

Jon blushed, but he smiled all the same. He liked these moments with his father’s wife. She had almost always been the one to make and mend his clothes. He knew it had been troublesome for the past few years with all that he has grown. However, she never made him feel as though he were a burden. She more or less made the same joke of him being a giant every time. 

Jon wished that Lady Celia was his mother. His true mother. That she and his father had married before his father had gone to Dorne. That he had been born from that union. That Jon was Lady Celia’s. He wished and wished and wished, but he could not change his birth, nor the pain it had initially caused. He understood Lady Catelyn’s resentment towards him. He would feel the same if the girls married into a similar situation. 

“Jon,” Lady Celia said as she wrote down the measurements for his arms. 

“Yes?”

“I have been asking you father to have you legitimized as his heir.”

Whatever Jon had thought she was going to say, he knew it hadn’t been that. “My lady, I cannot—”

“You can,” she urged. “And, if I can convince your father, you will.”

“I am but a bastard, my lady. A bastard your lord husband brought into your marriage when I should have been sent to foster elsewhere.”

“Jon,” Lady Celia said in warning. “I care not what other people think of me or you, but I will not allow you to think so lowly of yourself.” She stood and cupped his face in her hands. “You are my son. I may not have carried you for nine months, I may not have been as attentive when you were a small boy, but you are my son. I have raised you with all the love and care I know how to. I am your mother in all but blood and I want you as your father’s heir.”

“But Arya… or any son you may have.”

Lady Celia smiled at him and released his face, tucking some hair behind his ear. “I would feel more secure if you were your father’s heir. You would make a good lord. Arya is learning and she is still hit a girl in many ways, but she was not meant to be the lady of a keep like Harrenhal.”

“My lady…”

“Besides, perhaps the name Stark will allow you more freedom when it comes to marrying the woman you love.” Jon blushed. “Do not worry,” she said, patting his hand. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“I will still only be a bastard.”

“You are a Stark,” Lady Celia said. “You have always been a Stark.”

—

Jon dreamed of Sansa underneath him. Of her ivory skin aglow with moonlight. Her red hair was spread beneath her like a river of fire against the northern furs. They were kissing, her arms around his neck and her legs wrapped around his hips. 

Jon woke with a start, knowing full well how  _ stiff  _ he was. He pushed his thoughts as far away from Sansa as they dare go, forcing images of her away as he took himself in hand and began to stroke. He rarely satisfied himself with his hand, but that night it was so painful. 

He covered his mouth with his free hand as he worked himself into a frenzy and spilled. Sansa’s name was upon his lips and once he cleaned himself off, he went to the godswood to pray, pray that he not make a fool of himself in his uncle’s keep. 

—

“Jon.”

He looked up and saw his father standing at the entrance of the training yard. His father motioned for him to come close and then follow. 

“Someone’s in trouble,” Theon Greyjoy, his uncle’s ward said in a sing-song voice. Robb elbowed him in the gut as Jon went to his father. 

“Walk with me,” he said and Jon followed. 

The two made their way to the godswood. Their breath hot against the cool Northern air. 

“What is it, Father?”

“You have been thinking and worrying about something for a long time;” his father said. “Will you tell me what it is?”

Jon’s mind first went to Sansa and the dream of making her his from the previous night. However, he refused to even mention those dreams aloud. Jon decided to speak the partial truth. 

“I have thought of joining the Night Watch,” he said. “I know Bran is going, but perhaps I should too. I could look after him.” He looked down at his feet. “And I would not be so much in the way.”

“Is that what you truly want?” his father asked. “To never take a wife, to never have children?”

“I have nothing to offer anyway,” Jon replies honestly. 

“You’re a good man, Jon. Anyone would—”

“I’m a bastard, Father. I have nothing to offer.”

He did not mean to snap at him, but Jon could tell that his father took the wound deeply. They were quiet for a few moments when his father put his hand on Jon’s shoulder.

“Jon,” he said slowly. “Soon, I will be heading South with your sister Arya.”

Jon’s head snapped up. “You’re going to King's Landing?”

“Robert has asked me to be his Hand and there are talks of Arya becoming engaged to the crown prince.”

Jon couldn’t help himself and snorted. “I can’t see Arya being a queen.” He could imagine Sansa though, even if the thought made his stomach twist in knots.

“Neither can I.” His father smiled slightly. “Inplan on convincing Robert of that rather quickly.” His expression became serious once more. “I need you to look after Lady Celia and your sisters while I’m gone,” he said sternly. 

“But Uncle Brandon—”

“My wife would be more secure if you stayed. Perhaps once I return you can think of joining the Night Watch, but for now I need you to look after our family.”

Jon looked down and nodded. 

—

Jon awoke with a jolt as he felt something land on his stomach. He opened his eyes and found Alarra’s wild red hair filling his vision. He glanced over and saw Alys crawling towards his head. Their wolf Echo was no doubt curled next to Ghost at the foot of the bed. 

“Are you alright, sweetlings?” Jon asked, sitting up to pull both of his youngest sisters into his arms. “Nightmare?”

He figured that his father’s rooms were locked. Jon had heard whispers that he and Lady Celia were trying for another child before he left. The girls usually came to him when that was the case. 

“Bad raven,” Alarra said, tears in her eyes. “Scary.”

“Just a dream, sweet girl,” Jon assured, kissing the top of her head. 

“No go, Jon,” Alys said, clutching his shirt. “No go.”

His heart broke. “I’m not leaving, sweet girl, I promise.” Not yet at least. 

“Dragon,” Alys whimpered. 

“Dragon,” Alarra echoed. “Mad dragon, Jon. No go.”

Jon held them close. “The dragons are gone, sweetlings.” He laid down and let them curl into his sides. “But I promise I will never let the dragons hurt you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Celia mother/son moment! 😍  
Jon “thinking” about Sansa!  
Ned and Jon talking and Ned asking Jon to look after their family! 😭  
The twins are dreaming again! 
> 
> You guys should check out my “celiaverse” tag on my tumblr if you would like to see some other aus that I haven’t (yet) written fics for.


	12. Celia III

Celia remembered holding Arya in her arms for the first time. She could remember holding all her children, even the one she lost, for the first time.

She remembered hearing Arya screaming as soon as she took her first breath of air. The maester had chuckled and commented on how healthy her lungs were. The babe was cleaned and then placed in Celia’s arms. 

She had never seen anything or anyone so perfect before. Her daughter looked like Ned although she had Celia’s nose. She was still crying a bit and Celia showered the top of the girl’s head with sweet kisses. Her beautiful daughter. Her baby. She and Ned had made her. 

Celia had taken to nursing quite well and nursing her daughter was something she could barely describe. It felt so intimate and perfect. Sometimes it felt as though they were the only people in the world. 

Ned has stayed by her side unless called away by something important in the housekeeping of their home. But the feel of her husband leaning against her as she held their daughter felt right.

Arya has always been a wild thing growing up, but Celia knew her slight resentment towards feminine persuits was more due to how hard they came to her. Even so, Celia had always admired her daughter’s brashness. It was a testament to her youth and Celia wished her daughter could remain a little girl for much longer. 

Now, however, her daughter was fifteen and people were talking of marriage. When the king had first brought up the proposition, Celia wanted to glare at him and tell him that her daughter was never going to go anywhere near the hells forsaken capital ever. However, she figured that shouting at the king would not get the effect she desired. 

Then there was the letter from Lysa. She was worried about her sister and her nephew, but something felt wrong. Why would the Lannisters kill Jon Arryn? Celia just couldn’t understand it. Then again, she could not understand why Elia and the children were dead and their murderer walked free. 

Celia made her way to the godswood.

There was one in Harrenhal, but this one felt so different. The air was different. It was as though the tree were awake and not in a silent dream like the godswood of Harrenhal or Riverrun. Celia did not follow the ways of the old gods like her husband did, but she respected them. She knew they were there. For why else would her husband pray so earnestly to them?

Celia sat down on a rock near the base of the weirwood tree and prayed. She prayed that her family would all come back safely. 

—

Ned cradled her face in his hands as he pressed his lips to her own. He walked her back toward their bed slowly as she began to disrobe herself and then went to work on him, their lips separating only to pull his shirt over his head.

She touched him everywhere. She felt the hard planes of his chest and stomach against her fingers as she slid her hands down to undo the laces of his trousers. They paused to let his trousers fall and Celia wrapped her hand around her husband’s length. A growl came from deep within Ned’s throat as she began to pump him, making him grow even harder than he was before. 

The back of Celia’s legs hit the bed and she sat down to crawl further into the bed, her husband following after her. 

He kissed her again, slowly, his lips moving against hers as they drank from each other. Their tongues danced about the other’s mouth as the danced for dominance. It was a fight she was so very willing to lose. Then, his lips descended to her neck and he began to nip and suck at her skin. With every bite she felt the delivery caress of his tongue in the same spot to sooth her skin. 

“Gods,” she breathed as his lips descended lower. 

He took one of her breasts into his mouth and began to suck on her as though he were one of their children hungry for milk. Her husband, however, was hungry for her. One of his hands came to her other breast and he fondled and pinched at her, causing Celia to arch into his mouth and touch. Her hand went to Ned’s hair as she reached for his length once more. 

“Ned,” she begged softly as he switched his attention to her other breast. _ “Ned_.”

Her growled in response, beginning to rut into her hand. She pressed her thighs together and the growing ache and need for him. 

“I need you,” she begged softly. “I need you.”

Ned didn’t reply but let his lips trail further down. Then, his lips became occupied.

Celia gripped her husband’s hair as she began to grind herself up into his mouth as she longed for his tongue to bring her some relief. 

_ “Ned.” _

Her release began to build until she was coming apart against his tongue. She cried out for him as he continued to lick her and brought her through her release. Celia laid against the furs boneless but still wanting as Ned crawled over her. 

“Celia,” Ned’s voice was fought and she could see his mouth and face glistening from his feast. “Celia.”

He positioned himself above her and Celia sighed in relief as he sank into her, sliding in to the hilt. Celia wrapped herself around him as he began to move. She felt every inch of him as his thrusts began to build on top of one another. She needed him. She needed every inch of him inside her. 

With all the force that she could muster, she pushed her husband onto his back and sank back down onto him, moaning at the new angle. 

“_Yes,” _ she breathed. “Yes.”

She began to ride him slowly, finding her pace as her husband sat up and moved them closer to the back of the bed. Celia grabbed onto the headboard, giving herself more support as she rode him. She ground her hips into his with every downward stroke, seeking another release. 

Ned leaned back against the headboard, his hands on her hips as he began to thrust into her. His grey eyes remained focused on her. Her gaze locked with his as he bent his head and took her breast in his mouth once more. 

She rode him faster. 

His hips slammed up into hers as she came down against him. She wondered if she would even be able to walk the next day. 

He said her name like a breathless prayer while she cried his name out like a hymn. 

So close…

So close…!

She reached her end before he did, screaming out her frustration and relief as she came around his cock. He followed soon after her and he moved them so she was on her back as he continued to spend. It felt unending. 

He pulled himself out of her and she whimpered at the emptiness. But his fingers soon trailed up between her thighs as he pressed his seed into her so that none could escape. Ned leaned over and kissed her lips tenderly. 

“I love you,” he whispered softly against her lips. 

“I love you too.”

She closed her eyes and prayed the gods might grant her a child. 

—

Ned held her close as he whispered his goodbye. He pressed a thousand kisses against her temple as he murmured how soon he would come back to her, be back in her arms. Then his lips pressed against hers. It was a hungry kiss and Celia didn’t care who saw it. 

Let them watch. 

Let them see how much she will miss him. 

“I love you,” Ned whispered when he pulled back. 

“I love you too.”

—

The bed felt so big without him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was just an altogether sad chapter for me, even with the long sweet (and hot) moment between Ned and Celia.
> 
> 😭😭😭😭


	13. Arya III

“It’s a shame you don’t have your mother’s talent for sewing,” the queen said as they ride in the carriage to King’s Landing. “Or your cousins.”

Arya held her tongue as she seemed to list every reason why Arya would not make a good queen or wife to the prince. Almost everything hung she listed off seemed to be something the queen failed in herself. It was utterly ridiculous. However, she emulated Sansa and stayed quiet while thinking of how stupid and ridiculous this all was. 

The queen seemed to be an utter fool, expecting every other woman to be feminine but seeming to hate all things feminine herself. If she truly had anything to do with the death of Arya’s Uncle Jon, she had no doubt her father would figure out quickly. Afterall, the Queen didn’t seem to be the sort of person to notice evidence she might have left behind. 

Out of all the royal family, only Myrcella and Tommen seemed to be anywhere near decent. Myrcella reminded Arya a bit of Lyarra and Minisa. Tommen reminded her of Rickon, only less wild. They were perfectly sweet children and Arya might have been able to make friends with them had it not been for their mother and older brother. 

Despite his good looks, Arya found the prince to be utterly vulgar. He boasted of how great King’s Landing was while degrading Winterfell and Harrenhal. When Arya asked if he had ever been to Harnehal, the prince had the gall to laugh at her as though it were an absurd question. He spoke of Arya’s brother and how pathetic he was as a bastard and Arya was so very close to leaving and getting Needle, the thin sword that Jon had smuggled for her as an early nameday gift. Her mother hadn’t been pleased but had let it go after Arya’s father had whispered something in her ear that made her mother’s cheeks turn pink. 

The crown prince continued on his explanation on why he was so much better than anyone else and Arya could not wait until the farce of a betrothal was over.

—

It happened so quickly that Arya barely registered what had happened. Joffrey had been pulling at her skirts, drunk off the wine he had insisted upon drinking when Nymeria bit his hand. 

“You little  _ bitch!”  _ the prince roared. 

Arya did not stay much longer, running along the river and into the woods as quickly as she could manage, Nymeria running alongside her. 

Seven Hells, her direwolf had just attacked the crown prince. Arya began to swear inwardly, using words that would probably make Jon blush. 

Nymeria sat down next to Arya, panting happily, some of Prince Joffrey’s blood matting a bit of her muzzle. 

“You have to go, Nymeria,” Arya whispered. The beast tilted its head in confusion. “Go.” Even so, the wolf would not leave. The queen was going to want her head. “Go!” She began throwing rocks and sticks at Nymeria. “North!” she shouted. “Go North!”

Her wolf fled and it felt as though half her soul were gone. 

Arya ran in the opposite direction, not wanting anyone to find Nymeria. 

_ These were the grounds Prince Rhaegar died in _ , she thought.  _ The man who had taken and raped my aunt.  _ She wondered if it would be better for her to run away and never return. Perhaps go to Braavos or Essos. Somewhere the prince would not find her. Where she might not be punished for  _ his  _ actions. 

However, she would miss her parents, her brother and sisters. 

She ran back to camp, slipping past the guards looking for a well dressed lady instead of a skinny girl with messy clothes and a tear stained face. 

She fell into her father’s arms and cried that she wanted to go home. 

—

Arya was brought before the king and queen by her father. She had already told him what happened, but she also knew that her father could not be dismissed from court yet. He needed to find out who murdered Jon Arryn, if he had even been murdered at all. 

She thought of how her mother might diffuse the situation. How Sansa might. 

The prince was wailing and ranting about how her wolf had bitten him unprovoked and Arya wanted to slap him. He sounded like a child. Even the twins were better behaved than he was. 

“And your side, girl,” the king asked.

“It happened so quickly,” she said, which was the truth. “I fear that I slipped along the stones,” she used the same tone that Sansa used to get out of some trouble from her father. “I grabbed onto the prince and he was so shocked that he did not help me in time and I fell. My wolf misread the situation, I think, and thought he had pushed me down. She was only protecting me.” She blinked up at the king, in what Jon had called her  _ you can’t deny me anything  _ face. “I was so very shocked that I sent her away.”

“Away!?” the queen screeched. “That beast deserves to be killed for hurting the prince!”

“Quiet woman!” the king belowed. 

Arya’s father but his hands on her shoulders and she leaned back into him as he squeezed. 

“It would not be right to kill her, your grace,” Arya said. 

The king returned his gaze to Arya. She knew she looked like he ain’t. Perhaps he would listen to her for that. “And why is that?”

“Would it not be bad luck to kill my house’s sigil?” she asked innocently. “Surely it would have been like killing a lion for your own wedding feast. I fear the gods would not like it.”

She could see the queen grow pale and Arya had to hide her smirk. 

“The wolf is gone,” the king said standing up. “The situation has ended. Keep the girl better guarded. If she could disappear so easily, imagiene if a man wanted her taken.”

The king left and the trial was finished. The queen and prince glared at her and she could feel their gazes as her father guided her out of the tent. 

—

King’s Landing smelled like a pigsty. She couldn’t imagine anyone  _ wanting  _ to live there. 

She knew her mother did not. Arya knew her mother never wanted to step foot in King’s Landing again. It had been only two years ago, but she could still remember overhearing her mother crying as she confessed to her father of what she had witnessed and gone through in King’s Landing.

Even if he was a Lannister, Arya wanted to find him and thank him for killing the Mad King. 

Arya would not suffer as her mother had. Her mother had been alone. Arya, at least, had her father for protection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously though, did no one think about how bad it would look to kill the sigil of the prince’s betrothed’s family? That just seems like a horrible idea in any culture it’s be like burning a rose when trying to court a Tyrell.
> 
> A little on the shorter side today. But a heck ton of Jonsa tomorrow!


	14. Sansa III

Sansa began to spend much of her time with her aunt. The older woman became a little withdrawn since Uncle Ned and Arya left for the capital. She pretended not to notice how her aunt’s eyes were a little red and puffy from crying. Sansa couldn’t imagine what her aunt must be feeling. She could barely process the fact that Bran was gone. 

While it had been a shock to hear Bran wanted to join the Night Watch, Sansa wasn’t all that surprised once she thought about it. Bran has always admired their Uncle Benjen and the two were very similar in a lot of ways. Sansa hopes that the Night Watch was all her brother hoped it to be and that it was filled with food and noble men like their uncle. 

One thing that came from Sansa spending time with her Aunt Celia was that she spent a lot of time around Jon. Her cousin hovered a lot around Sansa’s aunt and she had no doubt that her uncle had asked Jon to take care of the family. 

He also hovered about his younger sisters, who adored him. Lyarra and Minisa were actually taking part in then sewing lessons while the twins were simply playing around with larger wooden needles their mother had made for them. Jon sat one the floor with the twins and let them run their needles and thick woolen thread through his black sleeves, the red thread sticking out against the darkness of his tunic fabric. 

_ He would make a good father _ , Sansa thought. She blushed as it entered her mind. 

The image of Jon with children was sitting before her as he gave his younger sisters his slow smile and soft kisses to their curls as he told them they were doing a good job. Sansa could imagine what he would be like as a father. He would be a good one like her own or Uncle Ned. 

_ Whoever he marries will be a lucky woman.  _ She felt her stomach sink.  _ But it won’t be me.  _

She glanced over at her aunt and found her watching, a small smile on her lips. 

—

Sansa brushes Lady’s fur in the godswood. All the wolves had grown bigger since they had been found and, while her mother did not entirely approve, her mother found it nice to know that her children had a threatening companion that would protect them. 

She was singing buts of a song she had been composing herself. She could play the harp, but had yet to truly compose anything. She was unsure of what it was she was even composing. The dualities of the world about her floated in her mind. Fire and ice. Fire and ice. She wasn’t singing a full song, but rather pieces of stanzas that came to her mind as she brushed her direwolf’s fur. It felt like a finished song she could not remember the lyrics to, which made no sense since Sana knew full well she had never heard of such a song before. 

She paused as she heard someone approach. She looked up and saw Jon and Ghost watching them. His grey eyes stared into her own and Sansa thought, for a brief moment, she saw desire in them, but he looked down before she could truly notice it. 

“I’m sorry,” Jon said quietly. “I didn’t know you—I didn’t know someone was already here. I’ll… I’ll leave.”

“No!” Sansa said a little too quickly. “Stay. You… you don’t bother me.”

His gaze returned to hers as Ghost padded over to Lady and gave her a lick to the jaw before laying down before her as though waiting for his turn. Hesitantly, Jon went over to sit on the Rick near the weirwood tree. It reminded Sansa of her parents and she wondered if her aunt and uncle ever went to the small godswood of Harrenhal and sat like this. She wondered if she looked like them. A man not yet fully grown with all the look of a Stark while she yet a woman grown with all the appearance of a Tully. 

The thought made Sansa smile. 

—

“You know you will have to marry someone Northern, Sansa,” Robb said gently. 

She looked away, pretending to be interested in some history book that she already had memorized because of a song or two. She didn’t want to think about it. Sansa didn’t want to think of anyone holding her in their arms and taking her to a marriage bed where it might hurt. “Jon’s Northern.”

“He’s got Northern blood, but he was raised in the South.” Robb turned her to face him. “He’s a bastard, Sansa. I love Jon too, he’s like a brother more than a cousin, but he’s still a bastard.”

“He’s everything Father would want for me. He’s brave and gentle and strong.”

“Plenty of men are like that, sweet sister.”

“But they aren’t him.” Sansa felt tears begin to prick her eyes. “I love him, Robb. Even if it meant I would become a Snow—”

“Don’t say that,” Robb said quickly. “You know why you can’t.”

“It does not mean I can simply order my heart not to long for him.”

“I’m sorry Sansa, but you know our parents would never allow you to marry a bastard.”

Sansa said nothing because she knew it was true. 

How she hated her duty in moments like this. She was a pawn in a game she would never truly be allowed to be part of. She knew her duty, but it did not mean she would like it. 

—

“I’m trying to get Jon legitimized, you know,” her aunt said suddenly. 

Sansa froze in her embroidery. A white wolf upon red weirwood leaves. Slowly, as to not draw too much attention to herself, she looked up to her aunt and saw the woman smiling at her gently. 

“I’m sorry, Aunt,” Sansa whispered. “I think I misheard you.”

“I can assure you that you did not.”

“But… Arya… is not ready to run a keep on her own, much less one the size of Harrenhal. Perhaps she would be a good lady for a smaller keep, but Harrenhal is almost too big for your uncle and I by ourselves. Arya is learning, but she would be overwhelmed by all of it. I know I was when I first learned it was to be my home.” Her aunt looked out the window to the training yard, no doubt to where Jon and Robb were training with Sansa’s father. “While I love all the children I have been blessed with, I fear that I may never have another. This was possibly the last chance I have at having another child and it might be another girl, who I would love dearly. The little babe I lost and Jon are the only sons I might ever know. She placed a hand on her stomach. We shall see, I suppose, if I was lucky, but I must plan for what is best for the family. Jon is what is best for the family.” She turned to Sansa. “The Tully family words?”

“Family, duty, honor,” Sansa recited easily.

“Exactly.” She smiled. “I know my sister, your mother might not agree, but she’s very protective of me and our brother Edmure. We were her first children in many ways. She knew I had strong feelings for your uncle even before I truly laid eyes on him and his… his love for Ashara was painful in the beginning and Cat had to witness that.”

Sansa could not imagine what that would be like. She just couldn’t. “But…?”

“But I love Jon. He’s my son in every way but blood and, if it weren’t for him, I don’t know what I would have done after I lost…  _ him. _ ”

Sansa knew her aunt had never formally named the babe that had been stillborn. If she had, she never uttered it. Her mother had written her aunt every day for half a year after news of the stillbirth reached Winterfell. Her father had written to Ned as well, though not as often. 

“Jon is my strength in a lot of ways. He’s Ned’s son through and through. He would make a good lord of Harrenhal.” She glanced at Sansa. “And a good husband.”

Sansa blushed. 

“Don’t worry,” her aunt said. “Your secret is safe with me. Perhaps I can smooth the way for you. I know your parents want you to do your duty, but they also want you to be happy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Jonsa! And Celia ships it!
> 
> Hey guys! I’m thinking of doing another Celiaverse story. Send me some ideas over at my tumblr!


	15. Jon III

Jon had heard whispers about the keep, whispers from some scullery maid or servant. It made his stomach churn and made his mind run with thoughts that should not have been allowed to even begin to walk. 

_ Lady Celia wants Jon Rivers legitimized.  _

The thought sent a thrill down Jon’s spine, but also sent a shiver up it. Him legitimized?

He had always wanted it, yes. He had always wanted to be a Stark, like his father and uncles and cousins. He always wanted to be Lady Celia’s son and hear her boast to the other ladies how tall her son had gotten. She still boasted to people about him, but it was as Jon, even if her voice held all the pride of a mother. There had always been a distance. 

She never wanted to truly replace the babe she had lost and never wanted to replace the mother he had. Even so, she was his mother I so many ways. He often had to catch himself before he called out to her.  _ Mother  _ on the tip of his tongue when he wanted her attention. He wished he was like the girls who could call to her when they needed her.  _ Mother. Mother. Mama.  _ He even wished he had the familiarity of his cousins.  _ Aunt Celia.  _ However, he did not.  _ Lady Celia  _ is what he called her, his father’s wife. 

_ Jon Stark.  _

He had always wanted to be him, but what of Arya? What of the younger girls? He couldn’t take away their inheritance. He couldn’t take away what was theirs by birthright. He’d be what everyone feared a bastard to be: a thief. 

He knocked on Lady Celia’s solar door, she had been spending some time there since Jon’s father and Arya had left. He’d been worried, but Sansa had said that she was simply lonely without her husband. After Jon thought about it, the last time his father and Lady Celia had been apart was during the Greyjoy Rebellion. Sansa said that sleeping where her husband did was probably helpful to her nerves. Lady Celia, when not in her rooms, was either in the Sept praying, spending time seeing, playing with her children, or speaking to her sister. 

“Come in,” came Lady Celia’s voice through the door. 

Jon entered the room and tilted his head in greeting. “My lady.”

His father’s wife looked up to him and smiled gently. “Jon,” she said, standing and reaching for him. She hugged him tightly. “Everyday you look more and more like your father.” She pulled ways to look at him. “Sit down,” she said gently. “Is there anything you needed?”

Jon let her sit first before sitting down himself. He glanced over and saw that she was making a few nameday gifts for the twins. A pair of grey gloves for both of them. No wonder she was hiding in her rooms. It was the one place the twins had learned not to burst into. 

“I’ve been…” Jon tried to put the question into words. “I’ve been hearing rumors.”

“If it’s about me wanting to legitimize you,” she said. “It’s true.”

“But why?” Jon asked. “What if Arya? Minisa? Lyarra? Alarms and Alys?”

Celia smiled sadly. “Jon, Arya isn’t ready for Harrenhal.”

“That doesn’t mean I should take her birthright, I shouldn’t—”

“Jon.” Lady Celia took his hand in hers. “I have given your father five beautiful daughters. Were we anyone else, were we smallfolk or lord of a smaller keep, people would say nothing, but surely you have heard the whispers of the riverlords.”

Jon has heard a few. It twisted his stomach at how people seemed to discredit his father’s love for his wife because she had borne him no living sons. He had heard whispers of men wanting Lady Celia to be set aside so their younger daughters might be able to marry Jon’s father and give him sons. One such lord had said this aloud and the man was no longer welcome in Harrenhal or Riverrun. 

Jon could still remember his father’s howl of anger and rage at the man who dared try to set Lady Celia aside. Regardless of whatever his father had felt towards Jon’s mother, towards the woman who had left them both, preferring death as her lover than her son and father of her child, Lord Stark loved his wife. Wolves mate for life and Lady Celia was the woman his father would never want to be parted from. 

“If you were your father’s heir,” Lady Celia’s voice broke through. “I would feel more reassured. My daughter’s would be looked after if something were to happen.”

“Lady Celia—”

“You are a good boy, Jon. A good man. You would make a fine Lord of Harrenhal and I know you would look after my girls, not let whoever they marry use them for their name or possible titles.”

“I love my sisters.”

Celia smiled and squeezed his hand. “I know you do.”

“But I’m not a Tully.” No matter how much he wanted to be.”

“You were given Harrenhal because your lady mother was a Whent. I…”

“I had thought perhaps we would marry you to a riverlady, someone that the people would trust.” She smiled. “But I think there’s already a girl that has caught your fancy.”

Jon felt a blush spread across his cheeks. “My lady—”

“Don’t push her away, Jon.” She squeezed his hand again. “You deserve to be happy.”

“I’m a bastard. Her uncle’s bastard. I don’t deserve—”

“Who truly deserves anything? We all have a  _ right  _ to happiness. You do too.” Jon blushed as Lady Celia stood and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “You’re my son, Jon. Even… even if I do have one and even if I don’t… you’re  _ my  _ son. Mine.”

—

Jon thought of it, of what it would be like to be Lord of Harrenhal. To be like his father. His father was good and brave. He was honorable. The people loved him, especially those of the North. However, the Riverlords who weren’t trying to pawn their daughters off to him found him an honorable and fair lord to serve under. 

He thought of Sansa by his side as his lady wife. She would be like her mother and aunt. She had been a lady since she was three, after all. He imagined that she would run the keep like Lady Celia does and that they would work together to build a home for their family, where they would come North to visit Robb and her brothers. Jon smiled at the thought. 

Perhaps it would not just be a dram. 

Jon let himself hope. He let himself hope for reality. 

—

Jon watched as Sansa played with his sisters. He knew that she loved the girls wholeheartedly, always happy that they were there. She would lovingly joke that she was surrounded by too many boys whenever they were gone.

Minisa enjoyed copying Sansa and would always wear her hair in a Northern fashion when they visited, insisting that Sansa do her hair. Lyarra prefered Robb, but enjoyed when Sansa would play monsters and maidens with her. Lyarra was naturally the monster so it worked out perfectly. The twins preferred running around but they had a weird habit of calling Sansa queen upon occasion. They never explained why, only shrugged and went on their merry way. 

They had become stranger since they had gained their wolf. They’d always been a little strange, especially due to their eyes. Both had a brown eye and a blue eye. It wasn’t too noticeable as their blue eye was dark and could be mistaken as brown depending on the light. However, it was odd. 

Jon pushed the thought aside as he watched Sansa play with his sisters. 

She would make a good mother. 

Jon felt his trousers tighten and he had to look away, thinking of Theon in a dress to help him loosen up.

—

He was Ghost. 

Lady was curled next to him, her snout resting against his throat, her breath fanning against his fur. 

It felt right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m thinking of doing a POV from one of the girls. Who should it be?
> 
> Check out my tumblr, I made a list of Celiaverse fics with summaries!


	16. Alarra and Alys I

The winter winds blew around them and Alarra’s red hair whipped around her as she sat against the weirwood tree. Alys sat next to her, holding her hand tightly. Their cheeks were pressed against each other, their blue eyes next to one another as they listened to the soft voice. 

It was a song. A song of ice. A song of fire. 

Queen of fire. Queen of ice. 

A false king. A true king. 

Dead wolves. Breathing wolves. 

Dead dragon. Breathing dragon. 

Shadows of ice. Shadows of fire. 

Smoke and salt. 

Death and life. 

Love and loss. 

Fire and ice. 

Alarra blinked and the vision was gone. She snuggled closer to Echo, Alys on the other side, and closed her eyes again as she tried to put the thoughts away. 

Jon would keep them safe. Keep them safe from danger. He promised he would not leave. 

He would have to, but he would come back. 

Jon always kept his promises. 

Always. 

“Dragons,” Alys whispered. 

Alarra opened her eyes and could see Alys’ brown one staring into her own. “Fire and blood.”

“Won’t look back,” Alys whimpered. 

“Lost.”

—

Alys wrapped her arms around Robb’s neck, wishing she could sew as well as her mama and cousin, as he carried her on his back. She nuzzled her nose against him. He chuckled, thinking that she was asleep. 

He smelled like the North. He belonged North. Starks didn’t do well in the South. 

The raven said she wasn’t allowed to say anything. Neither she nor Alarra were. But they were children. Arya said children could break rules sometimes. 

“No go,” Alarra sniffled. “Stay.”

Robb paused for a moment and carefully moved her so he was holding her in his arms. “Hey,” he said, nuzzling the top of her head. “I’m not the one who’s going to go back South.” He pressed a kiss to her nose and rubbed his scruffy jaw along her cheek. She smiled and pressed her lips against his chin. “I’ll be right here when you need me.”

“Blue towers,” Alys whispered. “Stay away.”

He chuckled. “If you see any blue towers, I’ll be worried about what you’ve been having in your cup our little wolf.”

Alys frowned, annoyed that she couldn’t get what she wanted to say out. She couldn’t put it into words. She wrapped her arms around his neck tighter. “Stay.” She didn’t want him to go. “Stay.”

—

Alarra sat I her uncle’s lap as he was doing his figures. “Glass,” she said. She pointed to the word. 

A chuckle rumbled through her uncle’s chest like thunder. “That’s right, Alarra,” he said. “Glass. The glass gardens are important. We’re having some more glass shipped from the South.”

“Dragonglass,” Alarra said. She wasn’t supposed to tell. “Need it.”

“It’s a very fragile stone, Alarra. Why would we need it, sweetling?”

“Winter,” she urged. “It coming.”

“It is coming,” he smiled like what she said was funny. She pouted at him and he just shook his head, kissing her curls. 

—

Alys next to Rickon, leaning against his side. She knew he thought girls were icky, but he thought she was okay. “Hide,” she told him. “Hide.”

He peered at her through his wild red hair. “I’m a wolf,” he said. “I don’t hide.”

Shaggydog barked in agreement.

“Zigzag,” she said, patting his heart. “Zigzag.”

He ruffled her hair. “Okay, whatever.”

—

Alarra let Lyarra braid her hair as they sat in the nursery. “Lizard,” she said.”

“Huh?” Lyarra’s fingers paused in their braiding. 

“Marry frog.”

“Ew.” She couldn’t see her big sister’s face but guessed it was scrunched up in disgust. “Why would I marry a frog?”

“Protect.”

“Protect what?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Me.”

“You?”

“Us.”

Lyarra sighed. “You and Alys are so weird.” She finished the braid. “There. Now you can go be Jon’s princess.”

Alarra thought of the baby with snowy hair and blue eyes. “Serena,” she said. Yes. That was the baby’s name. “Serena.”

Serena was Jon’s princess. 

—

Alys watched as Minisa practiced with her toy sword. Jon had given it to her after he had given Arya needle. She watched her older sister practice with very little patience. 

“Mini,” Alys said quietly. 

“What?”

“No water.”

“What?”

“No water.”

Her sister paused and looked at her with narrowed eyes and then shrugged. “Whatever.”

—

Alarra sat in Theon’s lap as he worked on his arrows. She liked Theon. She liked him a lot. But he made her sad. 

“No go, Theon,” she said.

He glanced down at her. “What was that little wolffish?” 

“No go.”

He scoffed. “Doubt I’ll be leaving here soon.”

“Starkjoy,” she said earnestly. 

“Greyjoy,” Theon corrected. 

Alarra turned and put her hands on his cheeks and pressed her forehead to his. “Theon Starkjoy. No Reek.”

He narrowed his eyes then sighed. “Fine. I’m Theon Starkjoy. Happy?”

Alarra beamed at him and Theon smiled gently back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much foreshadow and soooo much implied angst. Can you guess at all?
> 
> The next Celiaverse fics I will probably write is the Viserys and Arthur Dayne ones. The Arthur one will be sooo much like Jonsa. lol


	17. Ned III

“We don’t have the money for another tournament,” Ned said with a sigh. “It would be better spent elsewhere.”

“Thank the gods you are not the Master of Coin then,” Robert said. “I don’t have to listen to you about money.”

Ned has to withhold his scowl. He had looked at the books and the Lannisters were footing most of the ledgers and Ned didn’t even want to know how indebted the crown was to the lions. “We shouldn’t hold a tourney. We should focus on something else.”

“Like what? You already do not want me to  _ waste  _ money of sending someone after the Targaryens.”

“They are have barely reached adulthood,” Ned said. He thought of Elia, Rhaenys, and Aegon. He thought of Lyanna.  _ Promise me.  _ He thought of Jon. “They are still basically children. There is no love for Targaryens here. They are not welcome.”

“Viserys Targaryen has sold his sister to a Dothraki horde to gain an army. They are planning—”

“They have no ships to get here, not to mention how long it would take and how hard it might be for the Dothraki to get their sea legs. Plenty of people die on the journey due to not being used to such conditions.” Ned sighed. “They are the remains of a dead house. To my knowledge, Viserys hasn’t married so he is no threat and if Daenerys is anything like her mother, she will find it difficult to give birth.”

Robert scowled. “They took her away from me.”

“Rhaegar took her. Elia and her children had nothing to do with it. Rhaegar’s mother and siblings had nothing to do with it.”

“You don’t get it, Ned.”

“I lost more than you did in the rebellion, Robert.”

“Ashara chose her death.”

“I was not speaking of Ashara,” Ned growled. “I speak of my father. I speak of my sister. I lost all two to Targaryen greed. But it is the greed of two men who are already dead. Aerys by a sword in his back and Rhaegar smashed by your hammer. I have no other people to be angry at. The others are innocent.”

Robert was quiet. “I’m sorry.”

“You weren’t the only one who lost Lyanna. I lost my little sister and almost half my family. Do not speak to me of not understanding. I know full well, but I refuse to allow my anger at a couple men to allow me to seek vengeance against two children.”  _ I am not a Lannister,  _ he wanted to say, but he did not. Ned sighed. “Have your tournament, but know I think it is foolish.”

—

_ Dearest Ned, _

_ How I miss you. The bed is so cold without you to keep me warm. I have missed you next to me and miss your hands and lips. I would say more but I always fear someone may wish to see what it is I write to you. It does not help that Brandon often comes to visit while I am writing my letters to you and I know he and I both prefer to not mention the appendage I so adore when he is present.  _

Ned chuckled, imagining his brother turning red with embarrassment. 

_ I believe I might be pregnant.  _

Ned froze and his breath stopped in his throat. 

_ I say it so flippantly because I am not certain. I have found myself to be late, but it might just be irregular due to our traveling and my missing you. I pray that I am pregnant. I pray it every night. I pray to even the old gods for another babe.  _

_ I have stopped dreaming of a boy and believe it shall be another girl. A little girl who will have you wrapped around her finger.  _

_ I have spoken with Jon about legitimizing him.  _

Ned’s stomach twisted. 

_ I believe it would be for the best. I would feel more secure in our girls’ futures if I knew that they had a brother who could speak for them as opposed to whoever Arya might marry. It would put me more at ease.  _

_ I know you worry because Jon inheriting Harrenhal with no Whent blood in him may worry the other Riverlords, but I have found a solution. I had thought of perhaps engaging him to the daughter of a Riverlord might help, but I have discovered something that shall surely persuade you.  _

_ Jon is in love with our niece, Sansa. He believes nothing can come of it since he is a bastard, but if he were legitimized with Harrenhal as his seat, he would be worthy, in his mind, of Sansa’s affections. I have also noted that Sansa has feelings for Jon as well. I would most certainly call them love. She is so good with the girls as well. I know my sister might not approve, but I am certain Brandon would. I have spoken of it with him briefly and he has given me no indication of his thoughts, but I believe he would prefer to write to you of them. He is taking longer to write, so his letter might arrive later than mine.  _

_ Regardless.  _

_ How is Arya. Is she doing well in the South? Have her write to me once she finds time, I know she always forgets that I worry for her and would prefer to hear from her from her own pen than from your own.  _

_ I miss you, my heart.  _

_ Yours, _

_ Celia _

—

_ Ned, _

_ I am well aware that Celia has spoken to you what she has spoken to me. I found I could give her neither a confirmation or a denial. I find she reminds me of Lyanna at times in her persistent nature and she is a younger sister in a way which only makes it more difficult to deny her when she has her heart set on something. I know not how you do it, but I comment your ability to deny her anything.  _

Ned snorted after that. He rarely denied her anything. The subject of Jon’s legitimization being the only thing he did not give her. 

_ I understand why you hesitate to legitimize Jon. Believe me, I do. However, when you return, you must tell Celia the true reason as to why you do not wish to do so. She deserves the truth and I should not—can not— be the person to tell her. That needs to be you, Ned.  _

_ She has spoken of Jon and Sansa as well. While I would not be completely happy with said match, I would prefer it to any of the sniveling boys I do not know well. Besides, I do not want a situation like Lyanna’s. She was so angry with Father for forcing a betrothal she did not want and I could not bear to have my daughter hate me so.  _

_ If you agree to Jon’s legitimization, I will be glad to speak of an engagement between him and Sansa. I will speak to Cat as well. When you return and tell Celia the truth, I will tell Cat the same. Both deserve to know. We have hurt them, especially Celia, for keeping it secret. We had our reasons, but those reasons have long since stopped being a true thing to worry about.  _

_ Return soon and take your pack back with you to Harrenhal. I am unused to being so surrounded by girls. The gods have blessed you with a ridiculous amount of patience.  _

_ Brandon _

—

Ned searches for what Jon had been investigating. He had no idea why, but he had been looking into Robert’s bastards. For what reason, Ned could not say. He found two in King’s Landing. There was a boy named Gendry Waters and a little baby girl named Bara. Gendry seemed unaware of who his father was while Bara’s mother, a prostetute in one of Baelish’s brothels was well aware. Both children had the Baratheon look about them and Ned was rather surprised at how much Gendry looked like the boy Ned had grown up with. The girl looked like Mya Stone when she was a babe as well. 

But why was Jon looking for them?

His thoughts were interrupted when Arya stormed into his solar. 

“I am sick of it!” Arya growled, throwing herself into the chair on the opposite side of his desk. 

“What is it?”

“I have taken my morning lessons with Syrio very seriously and have done everything else the Queen requires of me and spend time with Joffrey whenever he deigns to give me the time of day. But what does he do? He is rude and spoiled and everything a prince should  _ not  _ be.” His daughter looked up at him with his own grey eyes, although their shape was that of her mother’s. “I hate it here, when are we going home?”

“I don’t know,” Ned said honestly. 

His eldest daughter threw back her head and groaned. “I can’t guarantee that I won’t punch the prince in his pretty Lannister face.”

Ned narrowed his eyes. “He’s a Baratheon.”

“Yeah,” Arya sighed. “But he looks more a Lannister, doesn’t he. He and Myrcella and Tommen. They all look like Lannisters. Gods, he’s nothing like how you described King Robert when he was a boy.”

Ned paused. He thought of Joffrey’s looks and then thought of Gendry’s. One looked like Robert and the other looked like… oh gods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The truth is coming!


	18. Sansa IV

“Queen,” Alarra said as she wrapped her hands around Sansa’s stomach, pressing her face against her belly. “Princess.”

Alys clung to Sansa’s arm and held on tight. “Pray.”

Sansa could connect the words  _ queen  _ and  _ princess  _ but had no idea how to connect  _ pray  _ to either one of them. “Do you wish to go to the godswood to pray?”

The twins looked at one another and sighed as though Sansa had said something idiotic. 

“You’re queen,” Alys said, pulling in her arm. 

“And princess,” Alarra said, poking Sansa in the stomach. 

“I’m just a lady,” Sansa replies gently. And even that put her too far above the man she wanted. 

“Jon!” Alarra shouted into Sansa’s ear suddenly. 

Sansa winced at the sharp sound but rolled her eyes as she watched the twins run over to their brother. He bent down and picked them both up, one in each arm. 

“Have they been bothering you?” Jon asked gently, putting his sisters down as they decided to run off to some other part of the keep. 

“No,” Sansa shook her head. “They’re just being silly. They’ve been doing that recently.” Jon merely nodded. He turned to walk away from her. “Jon.”

He paused and turned to look at her. 

“I… my Aunt Celia is trying to legitimize you.”

His cheeks grew rosy and Sansa found that she liked the way he looked when he blushed. “Yes, she is.”

“Is it what you want?”

“I’ve always wanted to be a Stark. I always wanted to be Father’s son officially. I’ve always wanted Lady Celia to be my mother. But we don’t always get what we want.”

“Is that all you want?” Sansa asked softly. “No Riverlands lady you wish to marry?”

“Ladies don’t marry bastards, my lady,” he told her gently. 

“Sansa,” she corrected. “Please, Jon. Call me Sansa as you used to. Call me by my name.” She stepped closer to him and he watched her carefully his eyes searching her own. They were a dark grey, like her father and uncle’s. But she could occasionally see flashes of violet, not enough to make his eyes perminantly that color, but enough to remind anyone who his mother was. 

“It’s not proper,” he whispered hoarsely. His face dropped closer to hers and Celia felt her heart pound in her chest. 

“I do not care,” she replied softly. 

“You should,” Jon’s voice was barely a breath, but it fanned across Sansa’s face like a summer breeze. 

He was truly handsome in this light. His Stark features seemed to shift ever so slightly into unfamiliar features, his cheekbones and his lips. They felt foreign to Sansa, yet it was Jon. It was all Jon, just as she had memorized him. 

“You should care,” he repeated although it sounded as though it was more for himself. 

“But I don’t.” She lifted her chin and her nose brushed against his. 

The contact broke whatever spell that had been cast over them and he pulled away. Disgust began to mar his features as he withdrew from her completely. 

“I will not dishonor you,” he growled. 

“Is it such a horrid thing to love me?” she asked. 

“No.” He would not look at her. “It is a horrid thing to love me.”

He left her alone, possibly to return to his sisters or perhaps spar with her brother. Her chest tightened as she closed her eyes and refused to cry. Why would the gods allow her such a love when all it brought her was pain?

—

“Come in, sweetling,” her father said as she let herself into his solar. 

Sansa didn’t know why her father had called her there. She tried to think of all the possible reasons as to why she might be called, but found almost all of them disagreeable. The most prominent possibility being her father had found a man to betroth her to. A man that wasn’t Jon, wasn’t anything  _ like  _ Jon. 

Sansa entered the large solar and came to sit in front of her father’s desk. She was surprised that her mother was not there if they were indeed there to discuss a marriage possibility. She was also surprised that her older brother wasn’t there. Robb had been following their father around recently, to better learn the duties of being the Lord of Winterfell as well as the Warden of the North. 

“You wished to speak to me, Father?” she asked as she sat down. 

“Yes,” he replied gently. “As you well know, you reached your fifteenth nameday this year.” 

Sansa smiled. “I am well aware of my age, Father.”

“As am I,” he replied with a chuckle. “Although I wish that you were still the giggling girl I met when the maester first set you in my arms.”

“Is this about marriage, Father?” Sansa asked. 

He looked at her tenderly. “Yes and no.” He leaned forward against his desk and watched her carefully. “This is about Jon.” Sansa’s heart stopped. “There have been rumors—”

“Nothing has happened,” Sansa said quickly. She remembered Robb’s warning of their father or caring for Jon as a suitor to her. “Jon has been a perfect gentleman and cousin to me.” No matter how much she wished he would be more forward. “He has done nothing to deserve your ire.”

“That is not what I was going to ask,” her father said after a short moment. “But I suppose that is information I can file away for another conversation, most likely with your mother.”

Sansa looked at her father in confusion. “Then why do you wish to speak of Jon?”

“I have heard rumors, that have not been circulated about the keep, that you have feelings, of a romantic nature, for Jon.” He paused. “Is that true, Sansa?”

“I’m sorry,” Sansa said, biting her lip. “I know that he is a bastard. I know you and Mother no doubt wish for me to marry some Northern lord. Please don’t punish him. My feelings are my own and he has never encouraged them.” Not once. Not truly. Tears began to prick at her eyes and Sansa brushed them away quickly. “He has treated me as he would any other cousin. He has merely been kind to me. My feelings are my own.”

“Sansa,” her father said gently and she ceased her rambling. “I will not punish Jon for your feelings, nor will I punish him for his own. I merely wished to ask if you if you’re feelings were true. Have no fear of me, sweetling. I will not use them against you.”

Sansa took a sharp breath as she thought of what she should say. “I… I love him Father. More than I should, I know. I know it is a disappointment, but I shall try to end my feelings if it would make you happy. I will be the willing bride to whomever you pick for me and I will do my duty as your daughter.”

Her father watched her carefully. “Your uncle will be returning to us after his short stay in King’s Landing. Once he returns we will speak of legitimizing Jon—I will take your aunt’s side in this—and have you married here in Winterfell. From there you will travel to Harrenhal to continue your training of ladyship under your Aunt Celia.” He smiled gently. “Does that sounds good to you, sweetling?”

Sansa took it all in. “Truly?”

“Truly.”

Her heart soared.

—

After Sansa left her father’s solar, she felt lighter, as though she were a bird upon the headwinds. Lady joined her as though she knew that something had happened that brought her mistress great joy. Sansa knelt down to her direwolf and ran her fingers through the thick fur of her neck. “Where is Ghost, Lady? Where is Jon?”

Lady licked her cheek and began to pad quickly to where Jon was and Sansa knew that is where her direwolf led her. She followed after Lady and found them to be heading towards the stables. Her feet felt as though they had barely touched the ground when she found Jon giving her aunt’s horse treats. 

“Jon!” she called. 

He turned to her in confusion. Sansa felt her heart about to burst as she ran to him and threw her arms around his neck 

“Sansa—”

She pressed her lips against his. They were just as soft as she remembered them to be. Sansa pulled away, her lips hovering only a little away from his own. “Father said we might marry,” she whispered. “I can love you, Jon. If you’d let me. I would love you for the rest of my life. I—”

He cut her off with a searing kiss, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist as he pulled her flush against him. His lips parted and Sansa could taste him at last and he drank from her like a man parched. She clutched to his shoulders desperately, never wishing to be parted from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight angst and then a kiss!
> 
> And someone guessed correctly who Lyarra’s frog prince is. 😘


	19. Arya IV

Arya sighed as she returned to her room from her lessens with the septa that the queen provided. If she had to hear one more time about how she wasn’t allowed to deny her husband anything, she was going to scream. She very much doubted that was what marriage should be considering she had seen her mother say _ no _ to her father multiple times. She couldn’t wait until she got back to Winterfell or Harrenhal. She hoped that Nymeria had made it back. 

Gods, she just wanted this visit to be over. 

She slowed her pace when she saw a man holding two wooden swords in his hands, his back to her. 

“You’re late, boy,” the man said. “Tomorrow, you will be here at midday.” He turned to look at her, a smirk on his lips. 

“Who are you?” Arya asked, stepping back slightly, unsure if she should trust this person. 

“Your dancing master, Syrio Forel.” The man, Syrio, tossed one of the practice swords to Arya. On instinct, she steps away from it, her hand going to about Minisa’s height to push the non-existent girl away. “Tomorrow you will catch it. Now, pick it up.” Hesitantly, Arya does as he says, picking the practice sword up with both hands as she had seen her father and brother do for years. “That’s not the way, boy. This is not a greatsword that is needing two hands to swing it.”

“It’s too heavy,” Arya muttered. 

“It is as heavy as it needs to be to make you strong.” He shifted, holding his own practice sword in one hand. “Just so. One hand is all that is needed.” Arya helps the sword with one hand. The weight strained against her wrist. “Now you are standing all wrong. Turn you body side-face.” She does as she is ordered. “Just so. You are skinny,” he commented. Arya held her tongue because she was well aware of how tomboyish she was. She didn’t need a man to comment on it, especially one she didn’t really know. “That’s good. The target’s smaller then. Now the grip. Let me see.” He inspected the hand Arya used to hold the sword and her grip. “Yes. The grip must be delicate.”

“What if I drop it?” Arya asked. 

“The steel must be part of your arm. Can you drop part of your arm? No.” He circles her. “For nine years I was the First Sword to the Sealord of Braavos. I know these things. You must listen to me, boy.”

“I’m a girl,” Arya snapped. 

“Boy, girl, you are a sword, that’s all.” If that were true he could at least refer to her as a girl. “That’s the grip.” He showed her the proper grip and she attempted to imitate it. “You are not holding a battle axe,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re holding—”

“A needle.”

Syrup smiled at her and chuckled as though she had come to the right conclusion. “Just so. Now we will begin the dance. Remember, child, this is not the dance of the Westeros we are learning....the knight's dance, hacking and hammering. This is the Braavos dance....the water dance. It is swift and sudden. All men are made of water, do you know this? If you pierce them, the water leaks out and they die. Now you will try to strike me.”

The near total stranger was getting on her nerves so she didn’t mind attempting to whack him. She was starting to pick up the movement as she continued to be disarmed and defended by him. It just made her want to hit him all the more. Especially when he knocked her to the ground.

“Up!” he commanded. “Dead. Dead. Very dead. Come. Again, faster.”

—

Arya day next to her father as he was laid up in bed, his leg propped up. She dared not look at the bloodied bandage wrapped around his injury. A training accident, he had said, but Arya wasn’t sure. Even though everyone agreed it had been.

“I’m fine, Arya,” he assured her. “It looks worse than it is.” 

She pursed her lips together. “You’re getting older, Father,” she attempted to joke. “You should slow down a bit.”

Her father chuckled slightly. “Aye. That I am.”

“Father?”

“Hm?”

“When will we leave?”

Her father took her hand and squeezed it. “Soon, sweetling. Soon.”

—

Syrio closed the door, the two wooden swords in his hands, and walked to Arya. He threw one of the swords at Arya and she caught it. He got into position, but Arya did not. 

“I don’t want to practice today,” she admitted. She missed her mother and sisters. She just wanted to go home. 

Syrio eases from his stance. “No?”

“I want to go home.” To Winterfell. To Harrenhal. It didn’t matter. She did not want to be here. “I don’t care about stupid wooden swords when my father is injured.”

Syrio stepped towards her. “You are troubled.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes.”

He waved the hold of his sword in her face. “Good! Trouble is the perfect time for training. When you are dancing in the meadows with your dolls and kittens, this is not when fighting happens.”

Arya rolled her eyes again. “I don’t _ like _dolls and k—”

He swiped her arm with his sword and Arya winced. “You’re not here. You’re with your troubles. If you are with your troubles when fighting happens…” he stepped back as Arya advanced. She partied, then he turned, around her sword to be right in front of her causing her to fall. “You make more trouble only for you. How can you be as quick as a snake—” She stood and pushed him back. “Or as queer as a shadow—” Their swords met and Surio disarmed her by taking her sword with his free hand and turned to place both swords at her neck. “When you are somewhere else?” He took both swords in one hand and placed a hand on her shoulder. “You fear for your father?”

She nodded. 

“Do you pray to the gods?”

“The old and the new.”

“There is only one god and his name is Death. And there is only one thing we say to Death.” He tilted her chin up with his thumb and finger. “Not today.”

—

Joffrey walked into the solar Arya and the Septa were seeing in, or Arya was at least attempting to sew in, and the two women stood. 

“My prince,” the Septa said with a curtsy. 

“My prince,” Arya mirrored. 

Joffrey stood before Arya and bowed. “My lady, I fear I have behaved monstrously in the past few weeks.” Arya held back an eye roll, supposing that the _ monstrous _behavior had probably begun long before Arya had met him. Joffrey pulled out a necklace. It was Southron and looked like one the queen wore. “With your permission?” 

Arya did not smile, but she turned, sweeping her hair to the side to allow him to put it on her. She turned back to him. “It’s beautiful,” she said, mimicking her mother whenever her father brought jewelry for her. “It’s like the one your mother wears.”

“You’ll be queen someday. It’s only fitting you should look the part.”

Arya hummed but did not answer. She would never be queen. Or, at the very least, bit his. 

“Will you forgive me for my rudeness?”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” she lied with a sweet smile like Sansa’s. 

“You’re my lady. One day we’ll be married in the throne room.” Arya figured that if he ever were to marry, it would be in the Sept. “lords and ladies from all over the Seven Kingdoms will come, from the last hearth in the North to the Salt Shore in the South, and you will be queen over all of them.” Arya continued to force her smile. “I'll never disrespect you again.” She doubted it. “I'll never be cruel to you again.” She doubted that more. “Do you understand me?” It sounded like a threat. “You're my lady now, from this day,” he said, touching her cheek. “Until my last.” He kissed her and it took everything in Arya not to wretch on the spot.

—

“This way!” Syrio ordered. “Left, right. Ha! Now you’re dead.”

Arya stopped, scowling. “You said right, but you went left!”

“And now you are a dead girl.”

He’d finally begun to refer to her as a girl, but only when she failed. 

“Only because you lied.”

“My tongue lied,” he said. “My eyes shouted the truth. You were not seeing.”

“I was!” Arya said. “I watched, but you—”

“Watching is not seeing, dead girl. The seeing, _ true _ seeing, that is the heart of swordplay.”

The doors opened to the training room and a group of Kingsguard approached. 

“Arya Stark, come with us,” Meryn Trant said. “Your father wants to see you.”

“And why is it that Lord _ Stark _ is winding _ Lannister _men in the place of his own?” Syrio asked. “Just wondering.”

“Mind your place, dancing master. This is no concern of yours.”

“My father wouldn’t send you,” Arya said. She picked up her practice sword. “And I don't have to go with you if I don't want.” If her supposed betrothed’s men were treating her like this, something must have happened. 

“Take her,” Martyn Trant ordered. 

“Are you men or snakes, that you would threaten a child?” Syrio demanded.

“Get out of my way, little man,” one of the Kingsguard hissed.

“I am Syrio Forel.”

“Foreign bastard.”

The Kingsguard drew his sword, but Syrio hit him on the head, knocking him out, before he could do anything. 

“And you shall speak to me with more respect.”

“Kill the Braavosi,” Trant ordered. “Bring the girl.”

“Arya,” Surio said, turning to her. “We are done with dancing today. Run to your father.” Three of the remaining Kingsguard began to fight him and Syrio knocked them all out, putting himself between them and Arya. “Go now.”

“Come with me,” Arya begged. 

“The first sword of Braavos does not run.”

Meryn Trent lashed out and eventually Syrio’s sword was in pieces. 

“You’ll die,” Arya pleaded.”

Syrio looked at her, smiling. “What do we say to the God of death?”

“Not today,” Arya breathed. 

“Go.”

She turned and fled as screams began to echo along the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just know that Tyrion was not imprisoned by Cat in this! It really was a training accident!
> 
> So... Ned’s been arrested...


	20. Brandon II

_ Brandon Stark, _

_ You have been summoned to King’s Landing to bend the knee and pledge your fealty to the new king, Joffrey Baratheon, First of His Name. _

_ Although, his father, King Robert Baratheon, still lives, there is little hope of recovery and has already passed his crown to his beloved son with his wife serving as the Queen Mother until their son has a better grasp upon his kingship. This summons is not only for your to bend the knee to your rightful king, but to pay your respects to the king who went to war for your father and sister’s sake. _

_ Furthermore, your brother, Lord Eddard Stark of Harrenhal, has been imprisoned for plotting against Robert Baratheon and his heirs in an attempt to take the throne for himself. As the evidence mounts against him, it is up to you on how the Crown will decide his sentence. _

_ Choose carefully, _

_ Maester Pycelle _

Brandon crumpled the letter in his hand and swore. What in the seven hells had Ned been thinking?! What could he have possibly done to piss off the Lannisters so much?

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Right, he probably discovered a truth they did not wish to be revealed. Or, gods forbid, they had something to do withJon Arryn’s murder. 

Ned had no idea when to keep secrets and when to tell them. 

Brandon flattened the letter out so it would be more easily read. Everyone needed to be able to read it. He closed his eyes and swore. 

He could not lose Ned. He had already lost their father and Lyanna. Benjen could barely return to Winterfell with all the ghosts that roamed the halls. He would not lose Ned too. 

Brandon opened the other letter sent to him from King’s Landing, hoping that there was some better news to be had. 

_ Dear Lord Stark, _

_ I have no doubt that you have already been informed of the king’s dying and your brother’s imprisonment. Know that he is not without friends in King’s Landing. There are people here who wish him free just as much as you do. _

_ I do not only write to you in the hopes that you know your brother is not alone here, but to also allow you the opportunity to be aware of what your brother has done to make an enemy of the Lannisters. _

_ Your brother was investigating the same thing that Jon Arryn was before his untimely demise. I do believe your brother has found proof that the new king, Joffrey Baratheon, is not the son of his supposed father, Robert. This, of course, is alarming if these claims are found to be true. However, we can only hope that they are false. _

_ I tell you this so you might know how to react. I ask that you comply with the king in hopes that your brother may survive the king and his mother’s anger. _

_ Your niece, Lady Arya Stark, has not been seen since your brother’s arrest. I, however, believe that she is alive and safe, wherever she may be. _

_ Your servant, _

_ Lord Varys _

Brandon reread the letter once more. “Damn it, Ned,” he whispered. “Why couldn’t you have left this alone?”

—

“I’m sorry Celia,” he whispered gently. 

She stood there for a moment and Brandon was reminded of the pale, thin girl she had been when she had been rescued from King’s Landing. The bloom of her cheeks and the brightness of her eyes that he had remembered from Harrenhal had fled from her and she had looked like a ghost upon the stones of Riverrun. She was like that now, but older. All color had drained from her face and her eyes had grown wide. She clutched at the letter she had been given from Ned. 

_ Dearest Celia, _

_ I pray that the gods are good and that the gods are kind, for I know not when I will see you again. Give the children my love and I shall give yours to Arya once I am allowed to see her. _

_ I’m sorry, Celia, that I could not be a better husband to you. _

_ Yours, always yours, _

_ Ned _

Tears began to gather upon her lashes until they grew too heavy for them and rolled down her cheeks until they formed a stream. A gasp broke from her lips as a sob tore through her throat and his chest. Celia buried her face in her hands. The noise lessened as Brandon took Celia into his arms. He had done so with Lyanna and Sansa plenty of times. Brandon stroked her hair gently as he rocked her from side to side, trying to soothe her. Cat had her hand on Celia’s back, whispering softly to her that everything would be alright. 

The young girls were being held by Jon and Sansa both. Lyarra and Minisa clung to Sansa and were whimpering against her neck and the twins held onto Jon, practically dispodent. Sansa had her hand on Jon’s arm, gripping it gently, her thumb rubbing circles as Jon held his youngest sisters tightly. 

“What of Arya?” Celia begged, pushing herself from his chest. “What of my daughter?”

“She hasn’t been seen since the arrests,” Brandon replied gently. “The Spider has told me that she must have escaped. I don’t doubt that she is alright or we would have heard something of her. Even if she is found by the Lannisters, she was Joffrey’s intended. They won’t hurt her.”

If he closed his eyes, he could still see the body’s of Elia, Rhaenys, and Aegon wrapped in Lannister cloaks. 

“If we hear nothing,” he continued. “I expect it to be a good thing.”

Celia let her face fall against Brandon’s chest as her crying lessened. “What are we going to do?”

“I’ve already called the bannermen,” Brandon said “Until then, you and your family is staying in Winterfell. I don’t trust the roads south any longer.” He hugged her gently. “We’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

—

Brandon listened as the bannermen stood, roaring for a call to arms against the crown. He could not blame them. The last time a Southron king had held a Stark hostage, it had not ended well for either of them. 

“We cannot go to war until my brother and niece are safe,” he said. All the men had ceased their roaring when he spoke. “We can go to war afterwards if we need to, but right now, we need to focus on getting my brother and his daughter back.”

“What shall we do then, Lord Stark,” Lord Karstark asked. 

“We March South with an army, however, we pass it as a delegation of ou major lords as a sign of good faith, to show we will all bend the knee to the new king, as a way to solidify his new rule with the backing of the entire North. However, it is a warning. We are the largest kingdom of Westeros and if the king does anything… we will be ready.”

—

_ King Joffrey, _

_ I will be coming to King’s Landing with a delegation of all the major Northern Lords to swear our fealty to you. All I ask is that my brother and niece remain safe under your care. _

_ I know not what my brother was doing, but can only guess that he had been lied to, perhaps by your uncles, Lord Stannis and Lord Renly. My brother loved your father and wished only ever to do right by him. _

_ We will be in King’s Landing as soon as possible. May the gods, both old and new, watch over your reign. _

_ Your servant, _

_ Brandon Stark _

_ Warden of the North _

—

“I’m pregnant,” Celia whispered softly. 

Brandon closed his eyes and held back the tears that so desperately wanted to fall. His good sister did not cry, but rather wrapped her arms protectively around her still flat belly. Cat held her sister, whispering softly into her hair, and it was then the girl began to cry. Some of the tears were happy, but Brandon knew that they were also fearful. 

What if Ned was never able to meet this child? What if this child grew up without a father?

“We’ll get him back,” Brandon whispered. “Both of them. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pycelle and Varys’ letters!  
Poor Celia and her letter from Ned!! 😭  
Calling the bannermen and Brandon trying to play this smart. What do you think of his plan?  
His letter to Joffrey.  
Celia is indeed pregnant! Shall it be a boy or a girl?


	21. Celia IV

“You wished to speak with us, Brandon?” Celia asked as she sat next to her sister in her good brother’s solar. Out of habit from the girls, she placed a hand over her still flat belly. It would be a short while before she began to show and she was so very frightened, more so than she had ever been for a pregnancy. While she had been afraid with Lyarra, hers being the first pregnancy after her son’s death, this one was different. Ned was gone and she had no guarantee he was coming back. Even during the Greyjoy Rebellion, she had not feared for her husband. She knew Brandon and Robert would never put him in too much danger. She trusted them. But now, Ned was in King’s Landing with Robert dying and surrounded by Lannisters, who Celia barely trusted. She closed her eyes and thought of Elia and the children. They didn’t know where Arya was, but Celia could only pray that her daughter was alright. 

“Brandon?” Cat said, drawing Celia from her thoughts. The Stark Lord was leaning against the fireplace, looking into the flames. “What is it?”

He turned to them and sighed. Brandon walked up to them and took the chair opposite their own and sat. “There is something you need to know.”

Celia’s heart sank. “Has there been news?” Tears began to form in her eyes. “Is Ned alright? Arya? Oh gods are they—”

“No!” Brandon looked at her, eyes wide. He got up from his chair and knelt before her, taking her hand in his. “Gods, no, I have heard nothing new.” He took a shaky breath and stood again. “No, it’s… it’s nothing like that.” He returned to his seat and poured himself a drink. “I… I told Ned he needed to be the one to tell you this, but we can’t all go into this conflict blind.”

Celia looked at Brandon in concern. “What do you mean? What did Ned need to tell me?”

“Jon… Jon isn’t Ned’s son.”

If Celia had been standing, she would have needed to sit down. “Wh–what?”

“Brandon, what are you saying?” Cat asked.

“It’s true Ashara killed herself and it’s true that she had been pregnant, but she had lost the baby during the rebellion. That babe was Ned’s.” Brandon rebbes his face. “Jon isn’t Ned’s,” he looked to Cat, “or mine. He’s… Jon’s mother was our sister, Lyanna. Jon is the son of Lyanna and Rhaegar Targaryen.”

Celia stood up. “Oh, gods.” She covered her mouth with her hand and felt like retching. She felt anger begin to boil within her at her husband for his lie. How she had been so jealous of a ghost who had given Ned what she could not. Her anger at Jon had barely been that and now she felt anger for the boy she had grown to love as her own son. Ned had lied to him too. “Does Jon know?”

Brandon shook his head and some of Celia’s anger deflated. “I told Nes he should tell Jon too, but he always worried that Robert might figure out the truth. Robert Yates the Targaryens. Rhaenys and Elia, especially, were no threat to him and he still…” He closed his eyes. “There’s… we have have some evidence that Rhaegar might have had plans to legitimize Jon, although he and Lyanna both thought Jon would be a girl.”

“A girl?” Cat asked. “Why would they think that?”

Brandon shook his head. “I don’t know.” He sighed. “It doesn’t change the truth either way.”

“Some Targaryen loyalists would want Jon on the throne then,” Celia whispered. “If what Lord Varys says is true.”

“Should we back Jon, then?” Cat thought aloud. “Robert’s claim was only legitimate not through conquest, but because he has Targaryen blood.”

“I do not want my son near that blazed throne,” Celia hissed. “That place is filled with horrid people who care for no one but themselves. I will not have Jon anywhere near it.”

“We need to keep Jon’s parentage quiet,” Brandon said. “They have Ned and we don’t know where Arya is. We can give him the Stark name, though.” The two sisters looked to him. “If it comes to light, we can show to the Northern lords that we prioritize the Stark name over the Targaryen one. Too many good men, boys really, died in the Rebellion for us to back a Targaryen.”

“May I tell Jon?” Celia asked. 

“Do what you think you need to do.” 

—

“Did you need something, Lady Celia?”

“Sit with me Jon.” She has been able to think of her husband’s reasonings for an hour and she had grown at peace with them. Ned had his reasons. He had his reasons for not telling her, no doubt wishing to give her deniability should the truth be learned. Even so, she wished he had trusted her more. How much heartache would have been saved if she had known the truth from the beginning. 

Jon took a seat next to her. “Has something happened to Father?”

“There’s been no news.”

“Then what is it?”

She took a breath. “I need to speak with you about your mother, Jon.”

He narrowed his eyes in confusion. “My lady, I don’t—”

“Your mother is not Ashara Dayne,” she said quickly. She let the ghost go. She let it go. 

“What?” He looked like the lost boy she had found in the nursery all those years ago. “Is she… does she…?”

Celia took Jon’s hand in hers. “Jon, what I tell you must not leave this room. Your Uncle Brandon and Aunt Catelyn and myself are the only ones who know the truth outside of your father and Howland Reed.”

Jon narrowed his eyes. “Howland Reed? Why would he…” His eyes widened and he pulled his hand away from hers. “No.”

“Jon.”

“No,” he repeated as he stood away from her. “I’m not—My father is not the son of the man who… who almost… to you—”

Celia stood and cupped Jon’s face in her hands and made him look at her. “You are Ned Stark’s son. You are  _ my  _ son. I don’t care who your sire was. You are  _ mine. _ ”

“My grandfather—”

“Does not define you.” She slid her thumb across his cheek as tears began to slide down them. “You are my son and you deserve the truth.”

“But Fa… Lord Stark—”

“Your father wanted to protect you. He wanted to keep you safe from those that would harm or use you.” She took a shaky breath. “I knew Rhaenys and Aegon and they did not deserve what happened to them, what could have happened to you.” She pulled Jon’s face down and pressed her forehead to his. “Your father hid the truth because he wanted to protect you, even if the lie hurt you.”

Jon began to cry in earnest and Celia held him tightly to her. 

“I’ll protect you,” Celia whispered, rocking him gently. “I promise. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter today, but we’re going to get a Jonsa wedding tomorrow and some Jonsa intimacy as well, so look forward to that!
> 
> Also, feel free to ask me any questions today on Tumblr!


	22. Jon IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We get a Jonsa wedding night at the end!

Jon sat still as Lady Celia straightened finished brushing his hair and tying it back away from his face. She was humming softly to herself, some tune that Jon didn’t know the words to. There might not even have been words. She rarely sang anymore, but she did on occasion. More than anything, she just hummed and there was something very calm about the sound rumbling softly from her chest and closed lips. 

“There,” she said with a sigh. “You look like your father did when we married. Although, you look a little more like a greenboy than he was.” Jon blushed. “There it is.”

He was well aware that his fa… both his uncles had been with women before they had gotten married, but Jon had never touched a girl before, no one besides the kisses he’d shared with Sansa. Gods, he could still taste her from when his uncle said they could marry. He could still taste the slight tang of lemon on her tongue as he had devoured her. But Lady Celia was right. He was a greenboy when it came to the wedding bed and he knew Sansa was a maid and wouldn’t know much either. 

“Now, your father would usually be the one telling you this, but he’s not here. Your uncle would have been the next best person to, but considering it’s his daughter you’re marrying, that leaves this conversation to me.”

Jon felt his face flush even more with embarrassment. “And that would be?”

“How to not embarrass yourself and how to please Sansa.”

Jon buried his face in his hands and groaned. 

Lady Celia snickered. “Alright, no more self-pity. This is what you need to remember so you can begin your marital rights to please both of you.”

Jon was utterly mortified. However, his only consolation was that Lady Celia said nothing of her physical relationship with his fa… uncle. 

“Does that make sense, Jon?”

He nodded. Gods, even if it didn’t, he wouldn’t ask her to repeat it. 

“I have one more thing for you before we go to the godswood.” He looked at her with slight apprehension. “I promise it isn’t embarrassing.” She went over and opened her chest and pulled out a dress shirt for him to wear underneath his furs. She held it up for him and Jon’s mouth went utterly dry in shock. 

The shirt was grey with white direwolves running sparesley around the bottom hem. The collar had some red embroidery upon the neckline and, for a moment, he thought it was weirwood leaves. Then, upon closer inspection, he saw that it was red trout. 

“I told you you’re my son, and you I wanted your father and I to be represented in your wedding since you don’t have a marriage cloak and you will be the one Brandon cloaks.”

Jon took the shirt in his hands. He stared at it for a moment before pulling it over his head. Jon looked back to Lady Celia and pulled her into a tight hug. 

She hummed again and wrapped her arms around him as he buried his face in her neck. He could feel the slight swell of her belly against him. 

“Thank you,” he whispered. 

He could hear her smile as she began to stroke his hair. “I told you, you’re my son. Now the world can see that too.”

Jon nodded. “Thank you… Mother.”

She squeezed him a little tighter and if her eyes were glistening when she pulled away from him to straighten his shirt, Jon didn’t comment. 

—

Sansa has wanted a Northern wedding, something simple. Jon was half inclined she just wanted him to carry her back to the keep, as was tradition. Jon didn’t particularly mind the shorter ceremony either. He didn’t mind the idea of it being over quickly. Both of them were thinking of the marriage bed, there was no denying that. 

They would be going back to Sansa’s old room, which was most of Jon’s boyhood daydreams come true.

Jon stood before the heart tree. He knew a few people were eyeing his shirt, but they knew better than to say anything. They were all quiet, but a hush fell upon them all when Sansa came down upon her father’s arm. 

She was beautiful, in a dress of white and weirwood leaves embroidered upon the hem. Her red hair flowed behind her and she looked as though the Maiden herself had come to pay homage to the gods of old. 

He did not know how long it was he had stared before Robb elbowed him in the side. 

“Ow,” he muttered. Then, he realized they were waiting for him. He coughed, and knew he was blushing from the chuckle his Uncle Brandon gave. “Who comes before the gods?” 

“Sansa of House Stark comes here to be wed,” Uncle Brandon answered. “A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble, she comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?

“I do,” he replied. “Jon of House Stark. I claim her.” He smiled at Sansa and she smiled back at him. “Who gives her?”

“Brandon of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, and her father.” He turned to look at his daughter. “Lady Sansa, do you take this man?”

She smiled at her father and then turned to Jon. “I take this man.”

Her father stepped back and Sansa took Jon’s offered hand. They stepped towards the heart tree and knelt. Uncle Brandon then placed the large wedding cloak over both of them as they silently prayed. 

_ May I be a good husband to her,  _ he prayed.  _ May we have the love and marriage our parents had.  _

They stood up. 

Uncle Brandon smiled at them both as he took the cloak from them. “Jon and Sansa Stark.”

A smile broke from Jon’s lips as he bent down slightly and picked Sansa up in his arms and carried her back to Winterfell, where their wedding feast would begin. 

—

There was no bedding ceremony. The Northmen had too much respect for their lord and warden to dare request one. So, Sansa and Jon merely slipped away when less than everyone’s attention was focused on them. 

The two almost ran for Sansa’s room and Jon could not help the way his heart pounded in his chest or the way his blood seemed to sing. They were barely outside her door when Jon could no longer stop his wanting. 

He pulled her to him and pressed his lips to her own. Sansa threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back, opening her mouth to him and he devoured her, curling his tongue against hers, letting himself explore the hot cavern as he walked them back against the wall of the hall. 

She moaned against him as she felt his hardness against her stomach. He pulled his mouth away from hers and she whined for only a moment before he set his lips upon her throat. Sansa stretched her neck for him as his hands descended upon her hips, and began pulling at her skirt. Her hands followed suit and soon the front of her skirts were bunched up between them and Jon dug his fingers into her hips and lifted her until her legs were wrapped around his own. 

Jon pressed her against the wall. Gods, is this what his mother meant by wet? He could feel her through her small cloth, through his trousers. More. He needed more. Jon began to grind into her as he began to suck on her throat, feeling her pounding heart against his lips. 

“Jon!” Sansa cried out, her voice wavering as he ground himself into her. “The bed… gods! I need!”

Jon stumbled back away from the wall and she held onto him more tightly. He released his lips from her neck and focused on finding the door. He opened it and went through before closing it with his foot. 

Needed. He needed to be inside her, but he wanted her to feel good first. Wanted her to be ready for him. Wanted it to be as painless as possible. 

Jon set her on the bed and he stepped back. Sansa whined again until she saw him undressing. Soon enough she was standing too and disrobing until they were both bare. 

They wyes each other hungrily and Jon had to calm himself as Sansa reached out to touch his manhood. Then she put her hand around it and squeezed. Jon took her wrist in his hand and squeezed it gently till she let go. 

“Did I do it wrong?” she panted, her eyes dark with want. 

“No,” he grunted in reply. “But I won’t last long if you do that. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her again, more gently this time, and walked her back into the bed and crawled over her. His lips trailed down her chin and he returned her attention to her neck. One hand found her breast and began to squeeze it. Sansa moaned and arched into his touch as Jon’s other hand slid down her stomach and he found her wet heat. 

Sansa’s hips bucked against his hand. “Jon!” She gripped gripped his hair so tightly it hurt. 

“Don’t know how long I’m going to last,” he muttered. He was already so hard it hurt. He slipped a finger inside her and he was ready to spend right there. The way she moaned was different that time. He began to thrust his finger in and out of her heat until he added another finger. Then, at last, another. 

“Jon!” Her legs were trembling and he could feel her tending around him until… He rutted into the bed for some relief of the tension coiling on his belly. Her nails dug into his shoulders and he knew she had drawn blood. “Jon!” 

He pulled his fingers from her and took his hand from her breast. He moved until he was hovering over her. “I’m not going to last long,” he whispered. “Sansa. Sansa.”

“I want you inside me, Jon,” she begged. “I want your seed inside me. I want to be yours.”

He stroked himself once, lining himself up with her entrance and in one fluid motion, he was inside her and broke through her maiden head and his hips pressed fully into hers. 

Sansa’s lips opened to scream, but Jon swallowed every sound as he claimed her lips. She was so tight and he wanted desperately to move, but he didn’t want to hurt her. Settled into her, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist until her heel dug into the small of his back. 

He pulled out of her until he was almost released from her grip, only to slam back into her. 

Sansa cried out. “Harder!” She turned her face from his and began to mewl against him, rolling her hips ever so slightly. “Harder!”

Jon complied. It didn’t take long before he spilled inside her. Maybe two more strokes and he was gone, collapsing on top of her buried to the hilt in her and spilling like he never had when he’d taken himself in hand. 

“Are you alright?” Jon asked. “Did I hurt you?”

Sansa shook her head. She was trembling beneath him and her legs still clung loosely to his hips. “Jon.”

“Hm?” He felt as though he was losing the ability to speak. 

“I am yours,” she whispered.

He pushed himself up and kissed her tenderly on the lips. “And you are mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jonsa for everyone!!!!!
> 
> But we all know I love to give you fluff before I give you angst!


	23. Varys I

Varys watched as the members of the small council, or what was left of it, shouted at one another. 

Stannis and Renly had already left, retreating to Dragonstone and Storm’s End respectively. There was enough discord within the two younger Baratheon brothers that Varys knew they would not side with one another. He also could guess that it was the Tyrell boy who told Renly that he should be king. Varys would admit to himself that Renly would be a well liked king, but he doubted the boy would enjoy the duty of producing an heir and a spare. 

The only members of the council that remained, were himself, Petyr Baelish, Maester Pycelle, and Ser Barristan Selmy. The newer members, Tywin Lannister and Lord Tyrion, were present while the queen sat in as well. The new king, although crown prince was still the correct title was also taking part in the conversation. The Kinglsayer was the only one sitting, bit really listening to the conversation, but rather glaring at everyone. 

All this about what to do with Ned Stark. 

“He should be sent to the Wall,” Ser Barristan said. “He’s too important to execute. The last time a Southron king executed a Stark, the whole country was plunged into rebellion.”

“He denounced King Joffrey as the rightful king, that is treason of the highest degree,” Maester Pycelle said. “Even his lord father did not deny King Aerys’ sovereignty.”

“The Wall is where he should go, but the problem is we don’t know where Lady Arya is,” Tyrion grumbled. “The heir to Harrenhal and we do not have her. The Starks and the Tullys won’t take that lightly.”

“We could lie and claim to have her, let them make peace with the idea that she will be queen,” Cersei interjected. 

Ser Jaime scoffed. “I very much doubt the little she-wolf would take marrying the boy who imprisoned her father well.”

“We are at an impasse,” Littlefinger said. “I fear. For the king, pardon me your grace,” he said to Prince Joffrey. “But King Robert still lives and we cannot truly carry out a decision while he still breathes.”

Varys narrowed his eyes. He had no doubt the king would be dead by morning. 

—

He was not able to speak to Ned Stark often, but he went to the Black Cells when he could. 

“My daughter?” he asked. “Has there been any word of Arya?”

“No my lord,” he replied. “My birds have seen no trace of her.”

Varys hoped she was out of the city. He sent his birds to find her, but none had seen any trace of her. 

“It is better to hear no news, my lord.”

“And my wife? Has there been news of her?”

“She has not written, but your brother has called the Northern banners to bend the knee to Prince Joffrey on the terms of your release.”

Ned scoffed. “I doubt that I will be allowed out of here now that I know the truth.”

“Your word holds much weight wherever you go. If you vowed to stay silent—”

“The Lannisters killed Princess Elia and Princess Rhaenys when there was no reason to. They were women who had no right to the throne after conquest, but they were murdered anyway. You cannot tell me that I am safe when we both know that cannot be assured.”

Varys’ lips formed a tight line. It was the truth and he could say nothing to deny it. 

—

The king supposedly died in his sleep, much like Jon Arryn had. When the news broke out and the mourning bells rang, Varys looked to Littlefinger and saw the odious man smiling.

—

“I am sorry for your loss,” Varys said when he visited Ned Stark next. 

“The Robert I knew died long ago,” he said darkly. He looked to Varys. “Has there been any news?”

“Your son, Jon, has been married to your niece Sansa. She is to be the acting lady if Winterfell as your brother, his heir, and your son march south.”

Ned nodded. 

“There… is more news.”

“If Arya?”

“Still nothing, my lord.”

“Then what is it?”

“News has come from one of my birds that Lady Celia is with child.”

Ned closed his eyes. “What do I have to do? What do I have to do to get back to my family.”

Varys smiled sadly. “I am sorry that it has come to this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter. Big one tomorrow


	24. Ned IV

Celia was curled against his side, her head resting against his shoulder and her arm wrapped around his stomach. Her red hair was fanned out behind and beneath her, strands of it hiding her face from him. Ned lifted his hand and tucked the stray hair behind her ear and smiled gently to her. 

His new wife was kind and gentle, if not a bit nervous. He knew, in part, or could at least guess that her nerves was because of Ashara. He rarely thought of her now, if he were honest. He thought of her less and more of the child he had lost and even more of Lyanna. His sister haunted his thoughts and at times he felt immense sadness over her fate and then would feel extreme anger. Had she wanted to go with Rhaegar? Did she not care about their father? About any of them? They would have all died to bring her back home and yet…

He shook his head and looked at his wife again. 

She shifted against him and let out a breathy groan. He grew hard at the sound, but told himself to let her sleep. 

Celia was good to him, much better than Ashara. She was sweet and did not laugh at his dreams of the future. She was easy to smile and laugh and so very willing to love him, even despite his reserved nature. 

“I love you,” he whispered softly to her. “I love you.”

Although she slept in, a smile crept upon her lips and Ned found himself smiling too. 

—

“Any news of Arya?” Ned asked as the Spider came to him. 

“There has been some news, my lord,” he replied. “One of my birds spotted her traveling with someone, headed North.”

Ned looked up. “Is she safe?”

“As far as I have heard.”

“Good.” He looked down at his shackled hands. “And my wife? My other children?”

“Lady Celia will be showing soon enough.” Ned’s hands tightened into fists. “And your daughters seem to be faring well in Winterfell.”

“And Jon?” 

“Traveling with your brother and nephew. We can only hope that he left an heir behind on his wedding night.” The Spider gave him a look. “I doubt your son will seek warmth from another woman’s bed considering he will be traveling with his uncle and good father. If there were any chance of it, I would almost assume history was repeating itself.”

Ned shuddered. He had not told the Spider the truth. He could barely trust the man to get him out of the Black Cells, much less protect Jon from the people who murdered his half-siblings and Princess Elia. 

“How are your plans?”

“They are coming along as well as you would expect. You were foolish in showing all your cards to them.”

He has not shown them all his cards. He had one left, but he refused to play it. He could not put Jon in danger. 

_ Promise me, Ned.  _

“You are the one who is still serving them,” Ned said. 

“I serve the people, my lord. They are the ones I serve.”

“Is that what you told yourself when you watched the Mad King burn my father alive?”

Lord Varys frowned. “I am not a god, Lord Stark. I cannot always be correct.”

“No,” Ned replied. “I suppose not.”

—

Celia was soft against his fingers. She had always been soft and almost fragile, but he knew the steel beneath her veins, beneath her ivory skin. He could feel the familiar swell of her belly against his own as he found solace in her warmth. 

“Ned.” Her voice was like a prayer against the wind, like a hymn in the sept. “Ned.”

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed into her chest. He held her close to him. “I’m sorry.”

“Come back to me,” she breathed and he could feel the dream fading. “Come back to me.”

Ned woke up with a start. He was against the damp wall of his cell and Ned curled into himself as a sob ripped from his throat. He wanted his wife. He wanted his children. He should not have come this far South. He should have stayed in Winterfell, in Harrenhal, in his bed with Celia. 

“Why can  _ this _ not be the dream?” he asked no one in particular.

He wished he could wake from this nightmare with the feeling of Celia’s fingers running through his hair, to the sound of her humming a soft lullaby she usually saved for the children. He wanted to wake in her arms so he could roll them onto her back and love her. He wanted to love her more. Love her again in the most intimate of ways. He wanted to awaken to the smell of her thick in his nose. He wanted to wake to her warmth and comfort. 

“Celia.” His voice broke and a whine escaped from his throat as he curled further in on himself. “Celia.”

Tears began to stream down his cheeks as he prayed to whatever gods that listened that he might be allowed to see her again. 

—

Ned knelt before the boy king in a throne room empty of everyone save what remained of the small council and a few whitecloaks. 

“So tell me, traitor,” the boy asked. “What have you thought of the Red Keep’s cells?”

“You have been very accommodating, your grace,” Ned replied, causing the boy to frown. 

“Your brother and his lords ride south to rescue you. What are your thoughts on that?”

“They ride to bend the knee to you, your grace. My brother knows his duty.”

“And did you know your duty?” Joffrey asked. “You conspired against your king.”

“I was led to believe in a lie, your grace,” Ned lied, burning his tongue upon it. “I loved your father, he was my greatest friend to me and a brother in all but blood. Your uncles, Lord Stannis and Lord Renly, gave me false evidence against your legitimacy and I believed them because I am a Northern fool.” He looked to the king. “I renounce my accusations and ask for mercy.”

“Mercy?” The boy laughed. “My mother wishes for you join the Night Watch, stripper of all your titles and power, to serve the realm in person ant exile and never see your wife or children again.”

“I would accept such a fate your grace.” Perhaps Celia might visit him, bright the new babe for him to hold just once. Surely the Lord Commander would allow it. 

“My mother has a soft heart, as do those who agreed with her. However, so long as I am king, treason shall never go unpunished.” He glanced to the side. “Ser Ilyn, bring me his head.”

“No!” The queen shouted.

Many went to Joffrey, tried to reason with him, but Ned could hear no more as blood began to roar in his ears. He became numb as the hound held him down, forcing his head to the floor. 

“Let her know I loved only her,” he whispered to the air to the gods, praying that she knew. “Only her.”

He heard the sound of a sword being pulled from its sheath. 

Ned closed his eyes and Saw Celia as he first knew her, as a little girl holding a white cyvasse wolf piece, smiling at him as though he was the greatest man she had ever known. She changed into the woman he knew her as. Gentle and loving and kind and his. 

_ Celia. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬
> 
> I.... don’t want to lose readers, so this is a spoiler, but um... Ned lives.... so. Don’t worry?


	25. Arya V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter backtracks a bit to see what Arya was doing.

The Red Keep has been in chaos due to, what she later learned was her father’s arrest. She needed to get out, she needed to get out. She heard shouts of men, soldiers, trying to find her and Arya knew she couldn’t be captured by them, couldn’t be used to hold over her father’s head. 

Arya ran further and further down the streets until she was in Flea Bottom.

“Find the girl!” She heard a red cloak shout. 

She turned to look where the voice was coming from when she ran directly into another person. She had been going so quickly and the person she ran into was so massive that Arya fell to the ground. She looked up and saw a boy about Jon’s age standing and looking down at her. He had dark hair and piercing blue eyes. 

“Find her!” the soldier shouted again. 

The boy glanced up and Arya was about to flee when he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her up. Arya opened her mouth to scream, but he covered her mouth and pulled her inside what Arya was vaguely aware was a smithy. 

“Don’t speak and don’t make a noise,” the boy said, shoving her under his front desk.

Arya curled into a ball and covered her mouth with her hand and closed her eyes, trying to not even breathe as the chaos of running soldiers swept through the streets. 

When it quieted down to a more normal chaos of a busy street, the boy looked down at her. “Are you the one they’re looking for?”

“Yes,” she replied, standing up. 

He looked her up and down, noting how she was dressed, specifically how her clothes were made. “What did you do to get the red cloaks sent after you.”

“My name is Arya,” she said. “Arya Stark.”

“The Hand, Lord Stark’s daughter?”

“Yes.”

“What are they chasing you for?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “My father was investigating something, something that might do with the Lannisters.”

“I spoke to Lord Stark a few weeks ago,” the boy said. 

“Why would he speak to you?”

“No idea. I’m just one of the many bastards in Flea Bottom.” He held out his hand. “Gendry, Gendry Waters at your service, my lady.”

“I’m not a lady.”

“My not in appearance, but I’m sure the records of your birth say otherwise.”

Arya frowned. Trying to change the subject, she looked about herself. “Why is the smithy closed?”

“My master died and he hadn’t left it to me. His son is coming in from somewhere to take over. I was packing to leave.”

“Where will you go?”

Gendry shrugged. “Who knows.”

Arya thought for a moment. “If you get me North, to Winterfell, where my mother and aunt and Uncle are, I bet I can get you a job as the smith apprentice at Winterfell, or my mother might bring you to Harrenhal.”

Gendry narrowed his eyes. “You want me to take you North? You do know how far that is, right?”

“I need to get North, at least out of King’s Landing.”

The smith frowned. “You sure you can get me a job?”

“Yes.”

Gendry sighed. “Fine, but I expect some money too.”

Arya stuck out her hand. “Maybe my uncle could even give you a lordship.”

He shook her hand. 

—

Gendry has gotten a dress from one of the women down the street that seemed to know him. It itched and scratched at Arya’s skin and could just see her mother clicking her tongue and muttering about alterations. 

To get out of Flea Bottom and on the road, Arya and Gendry poses as a newly married couple on their way to the Riverlands. Minisa Rivers, as Gendry told her to call herself, and her new husband, Gendry Waters, was going to help takeover the farm her mother and stepfather had left for them. It was strange, having to hold Gendry’s hand constantly. She understood that it was to look the part, but she felt a little ridiculous. 

His hand was so ridiculously big compared to hers. 

Needless to say, their plan worked and Arya and Gendry began to make their way North. 

—

They were about a week or two into their journey when a man ran into the inn they were staying in shouting that Lord Eddard Stark was killed by the new king, Joffrey Baratheon. 

Gendry carefully guided Arya to their small shared room and let her sob against his shoulder, wishing her father had never taken them to King’s Landing. 

—

Strangely, Arya dreamed of Lady. The sweet direwolf was nuzzling at her neck and licking at her ears. Then she saw Sansa. 

“Nymeria?” her cousin asked. “What are you doing here?”

Arya woke up with a start, Gendry’s arm heavy across her shoulder. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter! Writing in the car sucks!
> 
> However.... GENDRYA!


	26. Celia V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am soooo very sorry that this is a really short chapter. I planned on it being longer, but as I began to write it I started thinking of my grandfather, who passed away a few years ago, but still hits me very hard. I have so many regrets over my relationship with my grandpa. He had so many wonderful stories to tell and he wanted to share them with me, but I never took the time to do it and now he’s gone.   
I wanted this chapter to be long and angsty, but I wasn’t prepared for how this would hit me.  
Sorry again!

_ Mother, _

_ I wanted you to hear it from me, not from some raven from some other source. I wished you to hear it from me.  _

_ I’m sorry, Mother. I’m truly sorry.  _

_ We have gotten word that Father has been killed. _

Celia stopped reading there as a sob wracked through her body. She had hoped. She had hoped. 

_ Ned. Ned! _

Her husband’s name echoed across her mind as she screamed. 

She could see him, the boy she had loved her whole life. The boy that had smiled shyly at her at Harrenhal. The man who held her when their son was born still. The man who kissed her as though the world was worth less than a taste of her lips. 

Sansa ran into her rooms and came to Celia’s side. “Aunt—”

“He’s gone,” Celia sobbed. “He’s gone!”

Sansa hugged her and took the letter from her hand and reading it herself. 

Celia clung to her niece. She would be strong before the children, but now she would weep. Now she would mourn the only man she ever loved. 

“Ned,” she sobbed, her voice cracking against the weight of his loss. “Ned.”

—

She had told the children all together, including Rickon. Celia did not have it in her to tell them all separately, to open the wound each time until her heart would bleed out dry and twisted in her sorrow and anger. 

They were all on the bed she had shared with her husband. The children were all asleep between her and Sansa against the bed Celia had shared with Ned, his scent long gone from the sheets. 

Celia looked out amongst the children. “Gods, both old and new,” she whispered. “Let me keep them safe. Let me protect them from the evils of this world. Do not take them from me too.” She closed her eyes. “Do not take them from me too.”

—

Although Sansa and little Rickon had been left in charge of Winterfell, they and the men left behind in the keep knew that Celia needed to be kept busy. She had to or else she would spiral in her own despair and it was not what Ned would have wanted for her. 

They needed to be ready. Ready for what, Celia did not know. However, they needed to be ready. She could sense a greater storm brewing in the south than any of them would be ready for. 

—

She dreamed of him, her Ned. 

He was smiling at her, reaching out for her and calling her name. She could feel the warmth of him against her body as she brought her arms around him. “Please,” she asked the dream. “Please let me keep you longer.”

But she awoke, as she always did, to an empty bed and an aching heart. 

—

“Father coming home?” Alarra asked as Celia tucked the girls into bed. 

“Soon?” Alys asked. 

A knot formed in Celia’s throat. They were so very young. “He won’t be coming back, my sweetling.”

“Coming back,” Alys said stubbornly. 

“Coming soon,” Alarra nodded. 

Celia pressed trembling kisses to her children’s heads. “He’s not coming back, my darlings.”

“Soon,” the girls said together. “Father home soon.”

Tears began to threaten release and Celia wished her daughters goodnight before she returned to her rooms. She had so covered a shirt Ned had left behind and she had pulled it to her chest, pressing her face against the fabric, trying desperately to smell him, feel him against it as her tears began to soak through it. 


	27. Jon V

Everyone seemed keenly aware that they shouldn’t bother him, so they didn’t. 

Jon sat alone in the small private tent they had allowed for him. In the eyes of everyone beyond his family, he was still a bastard, even if he did marry their liege lords daughter. He missed his wife and wished she were there with him. Sansa would know what to do, or at least she would be of some comfort. She would hold him and whisper to him softly that everything was going to be alright even if it was a lie, everything would be alright. 

He missed his mother. Lady Celia would be a great comfort, but she needed it more than Jon did. Gods, the baby. He buried his face in his hands. They baby would never know it’s father. The baby would never know how much their father loved them. Jon closed his eyes. He wanted to go home. He wanted to go home and be there for his family, to look after them and be with them when they needed him. His father asked him to look after them. He should be there. He should…

This was all Rhaegar’s fault, and Lyanna’s. He had not put much thought of his blood parents, but this was their fault. Had Rhaegar stayed with his wife and had not taken Lyanna, whether by her choice or not, none of this would have happened. Joffrey would not be atop the throne and Ned Stark would not have been killed for speaking the truth. 

It was true, Jon would not have been born, but it would be a better life for everyone if his birth parents had made different choices. 

The entrance to his tent opened and he looked up, expecting Uncle Brandon, Robb, or even Theon. Instead, it was Lady Catelyn. 

Jon rose and bowed. “My lady.”

She shook her head. “Sit.” 

He did as commanded and sat down and Lady Catelyn sat down next to him. He wasn’t quite sure why she was there. She hadn’t exactly been pleased with Jon marrying her only daughter and Jon couldn’t blame her. Even if she knew the truth now, it didn’t change what she had thought of him for all his life. 

“I never hated you, you know,” she said at last. 

“My lady?”

“I hated whoever your mother had been, guessing it was Ashara Dayne.” She sighed. “My littlest sister has always been a nervous girl when it came to her appearance. I would tell her that she was just as pretty as me when we were girls, but she never believed me. I believe she had a crush on Ned since she met him, possibly before. He was possibly the first boy truly kind to her that did not need to be.”

“So bringing in another woman’s son…”

“A woman she thought more beautiful than her,” the lady corrected. “Women may not find physical love outside of marriage because it lessens their chances of marriage and it puts inheritance in jeopardy, you need only look at what Cersei has done. Men, however, are not held by the same standard. They may have all the bastards they like, even legitimize them and put them in favor over their trueborn sons and see no wrong done. Even so, my sister was hurt. I do not think she worried that Ned would put you over her sons, she simply worried if he would always love you more.” 

Jon looked down at his hands. 

“So, no, I never hated you. I hated your mother and even Ned for what had happened. But I never hated you. I was simply taking my sister’s side for no one else seemed to.” She sighed. “All those years of heartbreak for a secret both she and I would have gladly kept. We have sisters we would do anything for. We would have understood.”

Jon said nothing. 

“I am sorry that you lost him,” she said after a short silence. “He was a good man and a good father.”

“He was.” Jon looked at Lady Catelyn. “When we’ve done what we need to. I’m going to take my mother and the girls back to Harrenhal. I promise I will protect them. Them and Sansa.”

Lady Catelyn nodded and stood. “The bannermen have gathered. You should come as well. 

“Yes, my lady.”

—

It was time to decide what the North and the Riverlands would do, the Vale had not come to heed the call to arms so it was up to two kingdoms to decide which king they would back. Jon knew little of Stannis and Renly Baratheon. He had seen both from afar after the Greyjoy Rebellion, but that was it. Stannis has been serious and stately, the opposite of King Robert. Renly has appeared too flowery and seemed to hold no care in the world despite being well liked. 

“The proper course is clear,” Jonos Bracken stages. “Pledge fealty to King Renly and move south to join our forces with his.”

Jon closed his eyes and listened. What would his father want them to do?

“Renly is not the king,” Robb said. 

“You cannot mean to hold to Joffrey, my lord,” Bracken said, taken aback. “He put your uncle to death.”

“That doesn’t make Renly king,” Robb continued. “My father is Lord of Winterfell and if he had died, only then would my uncle have taken his seat. If my father dies and Bran would not have been Lord of Winterfell before me, nor Rickon, Renly can’t be king before Stannis. Besides, Robert made Stannis Lord of Dragonstone, the seat most Targaryen crown princes found themselves lord of.”

“Do you mean to declare us for Stannis?”

Galbart Glover stood. “Renly is not right! lf we put ourselves behind Stannis—”

It was Greatjon Umber who stood next. “My Lords. My Lords!” He walked into the circle of of the Northern lords and their Riverland companions. “Here is what l say to these two kings.” He spat upon the ground. “Renly Baratheon is nothing to me, nor Stannis neither. Why should they rule over me and mine from some flowery seat in the South? What do they know of the Wall or the Wolfswood? Even their gods are wrong!” This got a laugh from many. Even Jon had to chuckle. “Why shouldn't we rule ourselves again? lt was the dragons we bowed to and now the dragons are dead!” A chill went up Jon’s spine. But they weren’t, were they? One sat amongst them. But it was also the dragons they rose against. The dragons had lost their right to rule a long time ago. Lord Umber pointed to Jon’s Uncle. “There sits the only king l mean to bend my knee to: the King in the North!” 

He unsheathed his sword and bent the knee to Uncle Brandon. Jon’s uncle rose. 

“I’ll have peace on those terms,” Rickard Karstark shouted. “They can keep their red castle and their iron chair too.” He bent the knee as well and unsheathed his sword. “The King in the North!”

Theon stood, unsheathing his own sword. “My speed is yours, my lord,” he said as he bent the knee. “In victory and defeat, from this day until my last day.”

“The King in the North!” Lord Umber shouted until it became a chant, a cry for freedom and independence. It grew louder and louder until it became a part of the wind as Grey Wind and Ghost began to howl. Until it became a thrum only the blood that rushed to Jon’s ears.

“The King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North!”

—

_ My dearest son, _

_ I am sorry that I cannot be with you and hold you in my arms in this time of distress. If I were a selfish woman, I would demand that your uncle send you back to me, where you might look after our family. However, I know that you are needed. You are now the Lord of Harrenhal and I ask that you write to our men, if they have not yet answered, and tell them that they are to be called to arms. Request that a small band, of no more than ten, are to search for Arya. If Lord Varys is correct, she may have escaped King’s Landing. I would ask that you lead the endeavor, but, again, your uncle and cousin need you.  _

_ My belly swells by the day and every day I fear that this last bit of Ned that I have will be lost to me. I have not lost a child since the son born to me never took breath, but my old fears are renewed. Come home quickly, my son. I cannot lose you too.  _

_ Your mother _

—

_ My dear husband, _

_ How strange it is to write to you as such. I know you received a letter not long ago from Aunt Celia, but there has been some news. First I shall tell you of your sisters for I know your mother did not wish to worry you too much. _

_ There are two new faces in Winterfell. Lord Howland Reed’s children, Meera and Jojen have come and sworn loyalty to Rickon. The two are rather mysterious, especially around myself. They, especially the boy, seem to have a strange connection to the twins.  _

_ However, it is not for the twins that I mention the Reed siblings. Lyarra seems rather smitten with Jojen. She seems to find him rather handsome and hangs on his every word, for in truth he is a quiet boy and speaks very little anyway. Your mother has some thoughts of engagement, but it is too early in either case.  _

_ Minisa grows better and better with her attempt at being a knight although I fear for her so often I cannot stand it. She was utterly despondent when we were made to share the news of your father. She has not spoken since and I fear she might never speak again. Your mother is working for her, so I pray to all the gods that she speaks soon.  _

_ The twins have become stranger still. They say the oddest things to all of us and I worry that they do not understand what has happened to your father for they ask for him constantly.  _

_ I have no actual word from Arya, but Nymeria has returned to the North. She came to myself and Lady and she looks quite ragged. I wondered if I should ask that she go to you, but she has refused to leave my or your mother’s side.  _

_ This leads me to the news for which has encouraged me to write this letter. I have confirmed it with the maester, although I had suspicions it was true.  _

_ I am with child, my love.  _

_ You are to be a father.  _

_ I do not know what else to say, but hurry back to me, my love.  _

_ Yours, now and forever, _

_ Sansa _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let’s be honest, none of you guys care about anything save the last part of this chapter. Lol


	28. Varys II

Joffrey was shouting once more as his council tried to calm him down. He was upset, of course, that people were under the impression that he had killed Ned Stark. He hadn’t, of course, but people had heard there was to be an execution and Joffrey had foolishly done it in private. So, now that Ned Stark lived, no one believed it. 

It did not help that Ned did not have a very distinctive appearance that would lend to people recognizing him if paraded in the streets. The people would think more badly of them all if they thought they simply put out a body double. 

It was such a mess. A complete and utter mess. 

Littlefinger was smirking and Varys knew he was thriving amongst the chaos, but it still left them all to wonder what they were to do with Ned Stark now that people thought he was dead. 

—

_ “No!” the queen shouted after Joffrey’s order for Lord Stark to be beheaded.  _

_ Varys attempted to plead with the king, but the boy would not listen. A Lannister through and through, he listened not to anyone when his pride was injured. Ned Stark has given him an enemy in Stannis and Renly, but he ignored them for the hurt given in that very moment and the boy king would see blood for it.  _

_ Ilyn Payne drew his sword and lifted it  _

_ “Enough!” the voice of Tywin Lannister roared against the stone of the hall. His voice was enough to cause the toad-like man to freeze with his sword raised above Ned Stark’s neck. “The North went to war for one king killing a Stark, we shall not have another be killed and begin another rebellion.” He looked at his grandson with disdain. “Shall you begin your reign as the Mad King ended his?” _

_ Lord Stark was taken back to the Black Cells until the small council decided what to do with him. _

—

“It appears your brother has called up the banners and they have named him King in the North,” Varys told the lord of Harrenhal. “Your son, Jon, appears to be with them.”

Varys noted how Lord Stark’s fist tightened at the mention of his son and Varys wondered why. It also brought up the question of why the lord’s bastard went unacknowledged by his Dayne relatives when most agreed that they boy’s mother was Lady Ashara. Perhaps Varys should look into that. He felt the boy was much more important that initially believed. 

“Do you know when I will be free?” he asked. 

“I am not sure. It all depends, really.”

“Depends on what?”

“When we can get people to believe you are alive.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then they might take you from the cells and put you before your brother and tell him to give up his crown in exchange for your life.”

“You don’t know the North, do you Lord Varys.”

“I am afraid you Northerners and your customs often elude me.”

“We’ve always been more loyal to our own. Your boy king might get a bended knee, but I guarantee you will face even more resistance after that. we knelt first to dragon, my lord. And even, in that, there was regret.” Lord Stark closed his eyes. “The North remembers.”

—

One of Varys’ Northern birds sent him word that Lady Sansa was pregnant from her husband, the legitimized Jon Stark. Varys read over the other tidbits of information, but he focused mainly on the pregnancies. Varys wondered if the mother of Jon Rivers might be revealed in a grandchild. If so, the North may yet gain another ally.”

He turned his attention to the Targaryens. Word had come a few months ago that Daenerys had killed her brother. Now, he was hearing that she had hatched dragons. There were too many pieces and many of the ones currently in power were too volatile to be truly manipulated. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter today because I’m going out to breakfast with my mom.
> 
> In other news, I will be starting three new Celiaverse fics this week. One on Monday and two on Tuesday. They will not be tagged as Jonsa. So you will have to check my tumblr to see when the first chapters are published. Hope you like them!


	29. Sansa V

Sansa helped tend to her aunt as the older woman got further and further along in her pregnancy. She looked as though the baby would come any day now, however, her aunt seemed to grow more withered by the day. She looked so lost and frightened. Sometimes, her aunt would look out the window in a slight daze, then the tears would come. 

Sansa was barely showing herself and Maester Luwin said it would take some time since it was her first child. He told her that one second she would look flat and appear to just have chosen to not wear a corset and then the next she would be rounding and be rather obvious to anyone of what her circumstances might be. 

Even so, she worried for her aunt, who was currently crying. 

“I’m sorry,” her aunt said. “I’m certain you would much rather have your mother with you. She’s always been the one with a level head. But I just…”

“You just lost Uncle Ned,” Sansa said gently. “I would be more worried if you weren’t reacting at all, but we need to think of the baby.” Her aunt rubbed her round belly and allowed Sansa to lead her back to bed. “Shall I have the cooks bring you soup? My mother has taught them some of the Riverlands recipes and Mother says they taste just like Grandmother Minisa’s.”

Her aunt smiled. “That would be lovely, my dear. Thank you.”

“Just rest, Aunt Celia. I’ll look after the girls. I have no doubt Rickon will help as well.” She pulled the furs over her aunt and went to the kitchens to ask for more soup. 

—

The twins had begun to sleep with Sansa instead of their mother, which Sansa didn’t mind at all. She knew her aunt awoke plenty of times in the night to relieve herself and one of the maids was there to help her. The twins, however, needed their sleep and Sansa was not her at the point where the babe growing in her belly had taken over the rest of her body’s functions. 

Even so, the twins had grown stranger. 

“Princess,” they would say occasionally.

“Serena,” they would say less so. 

Sansa couldn’t quite figure out why they were so fixated on the name Serena, but she rather liked it and could imagine naming her daughter that. She imagined a Stark looking girl that would take after her father. She smiled. Yes, she quite liked the name Serena. 

—

_ My dearest Sansa, _

_ I am sorry that I have not written to you sooner, but by all the gods you have given me such joy. I do believe every person in the camp is aware of my title as father-to-be. For after I received your letter, I went straight to your parents and brother to announce the news and I am certain I told the news to every man I passed by. I am almost certain everyone is sick of my speaking of my wife and child as they are the four words that constantly leave my lips at varying intervals.  _

_ If I were able I would return to you at once and hold you in my arms and show you how much I love and adore you. Your mother has told me that your body would be going through some changes soon and how I wish I could be by your side. I am now better understanding of the way my father doted upon my mother whenever she fell pregnant with child.  _

_ Thank you for looking after my mother. I wish to say that as well. I can only imagine she is lost at the moment, as lost as she was when she lost the babe between Arya and Lyarra. Thank you for taking care of her and thank you for taking care of my sisters. I pray that Arya finds her way to you soon. I have no doubt that she will soon if Nymeria has been able to.  _

_ Should I send Ghost to you? Would that perhaps give you more comfort? I know Robb and I have been using our wolves in battle, but I would rather Ghost be there to protect you.  _

_ I have other news for you which, to me, is not nearly as thrilling as the thought of our first child, but I shall share it anyway.  _

_ Your father has been named King in the North.  _

_ Our kingdom is now officially at war with the Lannisters and the rest of the realm. We shall see if the Vale and the Riverlands wish to join us as well.  _

_ Your loving husband, _

_ Jon  _

—

_ My dearest husband, _

_ I pray to all the gods that you will be safe and that you will come back to me. I miss you so terribly.  _

_ I pray that you shall be here before the babe arrives but I know that is not likely to happen. If I knew it would do anything, I would send a letter to my father asking for him to send you home. _

_ I have decided upon a name for the babe if it is to be a girl. The twins seem to like the name Serena and I think it is a lovely name, what do you think? _

_ I pray to all the gods that the child takes after you for I think there are enough red headed Starks going about the North.  _

_ I have but one concern for the child I am to bare. What if the child takes after your  _ _ father _ _ ? What then? It shall be hard to hide much if the babe does. Please, ask my father what he thinks you should do and ask my mother as well. It is my greatest fear that we might be targeted for something we have no control over.  _

_ I wish I could be with you my love and my heart is with you every day.  _

_ Yours forever, _

_ Sansa _

—

Sansa dreamed of a little babe in her arms. The babe had silver hair and bright blue eyes. She was in a crumbling tower of black. Ash and salt swirled about her. A deafening roar echoed through the air. 

_ Mine! _

Sansa woke up panting. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are my other Celiaverse fics that started this past week if you haven’t read them already! All three have two chapters up!  
[Fault in Our Stars](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22544698/chapters/53871859)  
[We are the Shepherds](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22560553/chapters/53910346)  
[Beautiful Ghosts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22561159/chapters/53912128)


	30. Ned V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder, here are my other Celiaverse fics that started this past week if you haven’t read them already! All three have two chapters up!  
[Fault in Our Stars](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22544698/chapters/53871859)  
[We are the Shepherds](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22560553/chapters/53910346)  
[Beautiful Ghosts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22561159/chapters/53912128)

Ned stood before the remaining small council. The places that Stannis and Renly had left open were yet to be filled as far as Ned could tell. He supposed a master of law and ships was pointless to a king who cared little for laws and was fighting an open rebellion on land rather than sea. Ned almost wished there Greyjoy’s would rise up against Joffrey. If they thought Robert had little power over Westeros, surely they would see that Joffrey had none at all. 

“You are to write to your brother and tell him to end this foolish claim of independence and order him to bend the knee,” Cersei said, pacing carefully across the floor. Ned had no doubt that the woman had been allowed to tell the desired plan for no other reason but to feel important in the making of said plan. “We have let you live, it is only right that such a debt is to be paid.”

Ned tilted his head and glanced at Varys who was next to Lord Tywin. The old lion narrowed his eyes, no doubt thinking that Ned was looking at him. “You seem to believe I have much say over what my _ older _brother has decided to do. Brandon has been his own person for a while and, though my keep is in the Riverlands, Brandon is the head of my house. If my brother has decided upon something, he will do so without question.”

“You will write to him as we are owed your life,” Lord Tywin said. 

“I am no Lannister and have never been properly taught to pay my debts. Besides,” he said. “I doubt my brother will believe the letter is from me. He thinks me dead after all.” He looked to Joffrey. “It was unwise to have my trial in private. People will only think you have taken a step back to save face instead of actually stopping my sentence.”

The boy king scowled. 

“Perhaps if you had simply had me take the Black, none of this would have happened. The Starks have manned the Wall for years and you would have been seen as a good king. Robert forgave your _ uncle _for slaying a king. He forgave the Mountain for slaughtering a defenseless woman and a little girl who was no threat to the new reign. Yet you could not even think through the decision to execute me when those who will do worse we’re allowed to flee in the night. Tell me, your grace, how is it I was captured and they were not. My leaving was more secret than theirs. How is it that your lord uncles got away and I did not? They have more supposed concrete evidence than I and hold more clout in the South than I do as well. Stannis has the name and the agency and the seat of Dragonstone, usually reserved for a king’s heir, and Renly has the name and the love of the people. Tell me, your grace, why is it that you believed I was the threat and not your uncles. As you can see, I have been but a pawn in all this.”

Nes could remember Varys revealing how he had been captured, and he knew exactly who had betrayed him. The man had even told him not to trust him. 

“My Lord Stark makes an excellent point,” Lord Varys simpered. “I find it strange that he was the one focused on when it would be obvious that Lord Stannis or Lord Renly would be the ones to gain something from the defamation of our true king’s legitimacy.” He turned to the boy king. “It would seem almost as though someone wished to start an unnecessary war with the Starks when, indeed, they could have been one of our greatest allies with their ties to the Riverlands and the Vale. Besides, if such a schemer was someone who killed Lord Arryn, then why would they do so.” He paused. “Perhaps we should question you, Littlefinger.” Everyone turned to the man, who froze ever so slightly. “I find it strange that the ones being threatened more recently are those who have a connection to the three Tully sisters. You were their friend and their father’s ward, were you not? You were also the one to bring notice to Lord Stark’s actions.”

“I remember it well,” Ser Jaime said from his seat. “You did challenge Brandon Stark to a duel when he was given Lady Catelyn’s hand. Lady Lysa had always fancied you as well. I remember well Lady Celia once speaking with Princess Elia of such things as gossip to keep the princess entertained when Rhaegar had run away with the Stark girl.” The Kinglsayer looked at Littlefinger like he was an insect. “I had even heard whispers that you and Lysa Tully were lovers once, but you had said Catelyn’s name. Lady Celia had come upon the scene and reported it to her father. How very interesting that the husband of your one time lover is dead, the husband of the girl who had you removed from Riverrun has been tried for treason and almost killed, and the husband of the woman you have pined for for all these years has risen up in rebellion, which might lead to his demise. It is almost as if serving the king was never in your interest.” He paused before looking at his father. “I also find it odd how the crown has had to depend so much upon our family’s money. True, Robert spent much of the crown’s money on tournaments and whores, but…” he turned his gaze back to Littlefinger. “Are you not the owner of those whorehouses? Could you not have put that money back in the crown’s pocket? How much money does a whoremonger and a lord of a small keep actually need?”

“Ser Jaime makes excellent points, your grace,” Lord Varys said. “I remember once Lord Baelish telling me that chaos is a ladder. Who would thrive on such chaos that this has created. Not the Starks, who have found themselves thrust into a position of power they did not even ask for after Rhaegar kidnapping and raping Lady Lyanna. Not the Baratheons for now they are more divided than they ever were. Not the crown for it appears, to the people, that you are repeating the Mad King’s mistakes. Not the Lannisters for they appear to be doing what they have done to Princess Elia and her children. I feel as though only one person has gained anything from this, my king. Perhaps I am wrong, but perhaps the answer to this question might bring out the true culprit.”

“And what question is that, spider?” the boy king asked. 

“Who was it that encouraged you to take Lord Eddard’s head?”

The boy scowled. “Uncle Jaime,” he snapped. “Take Lord Baelish to the Black Cells and have the redcloaks guard him.” 

The Kinglsayer bowed. “At once, your grace.”

—

Ned did wind up writing a letter to Brandon and while the letter seemed to encourage his brother to give up the pursuit of Northern independence, that was very far from the truth of its contents. 

_ Brandon, _

_ You should know my writing well enough to see that the hand and signature are true. I am well and alive, my execution stopped by Lord Tywin, surprisingly. _

_ I write to you to discourage the continued pursuit of Northern independence. I know such a thing might fall upon deaf ears to the Northern lords, but I am sure you can make them see reason. There might be a way to persuade the king to lower the taxes upon the North since we are far bigger and more spread out. There may also be a way to better our trade and do as our father would have wished in expanding South. _

_ I also write to tell you that Littlefinger has been arrested for crimes against the crown. I believe our good sister, Lysa, will need some council after since she has always favored him, or so I have been told. _

_ I also write to you to tell you that I have heard of Jon’s marriage to your daughter and that we are expecting our first grandchild very soon. As such, I believe it is time that Jon take his rightful place as the heir to his father’s seat. Do you not think so? His brother, who would have been the heir before him, was taken before his time. I believe it is time that Jon take his rightful place. _

_ Back to the original purpose of this letter, I know the Northern lords may not be happy about losing their independence once more, but perhaps there is more to gain. _

_ Your brother, _

_ Ned _

—

He wondered from his own cell, as Littlefinger shouted at the men to free him, what would have happened if he had put Jon forward to be king instead of Robert. How many things would have changed.

Jon would make a good king. He would be good and just and kind. Sansa would make a good queen. The girl had a level head upon her shoulders and a generous heart. The two would balance one another nicely, bringing together three of the Seven Kingdoms together. They could promise vengeance upon the Lannisters for the Martells, perhaps grant Dorne permanent independence since they had very little to do with the rest of the Seven Kingdoms politically. Theon would eventually tie in the Iron Islands. Perhaps granting him the title of Master of Ships would do well. That would make four and five of the seven kingdoms. The Westerlands would be tricky, as would the Stormlands. But, Ned had no doubt it would work eventually. He could only pray that it would eventually.

He could only pray he would live long enough to see it. 

—

Lord Varys told Ned the following evening that Brandon had won a battle against the Lannister forces and Lord Tywin and Ser Jaime were sent to see if they could change the tide. 

Ned prayed their interference would be futile and that Brandon would receive his letter soon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are heating up!!!
> 
> Arya POV next!


	31. Arya VI

“Did you hear,” a man at the inn they were stopping at for food said. “The Wild Wolf was named King in the North!” Arya’s breath caught in her throat. Gendry took her hand in his and squeezed it. “They say he’s already won two battles against the Lannister forces and the crown has sent Tywin Lannister and the Kinglsayer to see if they can turn the tide.”

Another person scoffed. “The Starks brought down the Targaryens for their sister and that’s when they thought she was alive. The crown killed Eddard Stark. I doubt anything could stop them.”

“Did you hear that the Young Wolf and the White Wolf turn into actual wolves?” a boy about Arya’s age asked. “I heard they eat enemy soldiers.”

“Lad, that’s a type of magic that doesn’t exist anywhere in stories.”

Arya mouthed the names  _ Young Wolf  _ and  _ White Wolf _ . That had to be Robb and Jon. 

“Where are they headed?” Gendry asked, squeezing her hand again. “My wife and I want no part of this. We need to know if there’s a better route to take.”

“Heading to the Riverlands,” a man answered. “No doubt going to Lady Stark’s father for aid and getting the men from Harrenhal. I hear they’re putting up a fuss too.”

Arya wondered if the Riverlords would back Jon as their father’s only son or if they would simply match behind Uncle Brandon. Then, there was the fact her uncle had been named king. Was he king of only the North or was the Riverlands included? What if Aunt Lysa? Would she have the Knights of the Vale enter the conflict? Would that add them to the new Northern kingdom?

“Let’s get going,” Gendry whispered. He still held her hand as he got them up. “We need to see if we can find a horse to buy. Something cheap. Walking to the Riverlands will take forever.”

Arya focused on their connecting hands and was a little miffed at how unbothered she was by it. He had made it into a habit, holding her hand. It was one part possessive, since they were supposed to be newlyweds. Another reason was so they wouldn’t get separated when they rushed into crowds fearing the shouts of Lannister soldiers. 

They searched and searched for a cheap horse to buy, but found none. 

—

They needed more money if they wanted to buy a horse, even a bad one, and still have money to spend on food. They went around the village they were in until they found a blacksmith. 

“You in need of some extra hands?” Gendry asked. 

“Why?” the man asked gruffly. “What’s it to you?” 

“My wife and I need to make some extra money so we can be on our way. I was an apprentice blacksmith before my master died. We’re on our way to her father’s village. They have a spot for me there, but until then, we need to make more money. It doesn’t have to be a lot, we just need more than we thought we did. This rebellion isn’t doing us any favors.”

“Can you make weapons, lad?” the blacksmith asked. 

“It’s what I’m good at. I can make a decent sword and hammer, those are my specialties. My master always had these big aspirations of presenting King Robert with a new hammer. Never happened, but I got good with them.”

The blacksmith nodded. “I could use an extra set of hands. We’ve got some boys leaving to fight and gods damn it they need weapons. The crown is shelling out some coin for it. I’ll get the bigger cut, but I can spare some for you. My boy has already left for another village and my wife recently passed. I don’t have any mouths but my own to feed. I’ll give you some coin if you work for it.”

“Thank you,” Gendry said. 

“And can your wife do anything?” the blacksmith asked. “I can cook for myself and I don’t trust strangers to make me food. But can she do anything useful?”

Arya opened her mouth then stopped. Fighting with a sword, no matter how novice, was going to help and her stitching was terrible. 

“She can repair clothes rather well,” Gendry said. “If you give us a spot to sleep in the forge for a few days she can mend your clothes as I help you in the forge.”

“I’ll give you a few coins for that as well then.”

—

“You don’t know how to mend clothes, do you?” Gendry asked as they settled in the back room of the forge. The blacksmith, Gren, had a small mattress of straw made up for them to sleep in. “You’re a lady, do they normally have you do stuff like that?”

“My cousin, Sansa, and my mother can mend things,” she said, her cheeks turning a little pink. 

“I didn’t ask what they could do, I asked if you could do it?” Arya sighed and shook her head. Gendry sighed as well and sat up. “Here,” he said, pulling his shirt off.

“What are you doing?!”

“Calm down, I’m showing you how to mend a shirt using mine.” He ripped the hem of his shirt and pulled out a needle and some thread. “My mother taught me when she was still alive. She said she hadn’t been much use in the brothel when she was pregnant, but she could mend things rather well so they didn’t send her away.” He threaded the needle and showed her carefully how to mend the tear in the shirt. “It makes me think of her whenever I had to mend my clothes. Like she was watching over me when she did. I don’t look like her at all, but I can mend clothes like her. It makes me feel closer to her, I suppose.”

Arya nodded as she watched Gendry’s hands carefully pull the ripped sides of the cloth back together. He then tore another piece and handed it to Arya. 

_ Sweetling, do you know what stitch might be useful to sew up a sword wound and the difference between that and a dagger wound?  _ Her mother’s question came into her mind. 

“Would this work on wounds?” she asked. 

Gendry blinked at her. “I suppose,” he shrugged. “I once had to sew up my master’s arm with something similar when he dropped a sword and it cut his leg.”

Arya chewed her lip as she tried to copy Gendry’s stitching. It was messy, but it wasn’t horrible. 

He ripped the hem of his shirt again. “Do it over.”

“We’re going to have to get you a new shirt,” Arya muttered. 

Gendry just laughed. “Why should we buy one? My little wife can just make one for me.” 

Arya threw his shirt at him and he just laughed harder. 

—

Arya dreamed of Sansa and her mother. 

Her mother’s belly has grown large and there was some color in her cheeks and Arya rested her head on her mother’s lap. Her mother’s nails scratched the back of her head as Arya pressed her nose against the protruding belly. Her mother was safe and so was the baby. She’d do anything to protect her mother. She was the oldest of her trueborn children. If Jon couldn’t be there to protect her, Arya would. 

Sansa had grown bigger too. She no longer wore corsets, but Arya could see a slight bump in her belly, still quite small, but Arya knew what it was. A baby. Jon’s baby. Where was Ghost? Why wasn’t he there with Lady?

Alarra and Alys put their arms around her neck. 

“Soon,” they said. “Not yet. Bye-bye.”


	32. Celia VI

Celia balanced against the wall as she felt a small contraction hit her. She whimpered only slightly as she did so. 

“My lady?” one of the servants asked.

She shook her head. “It’s only a reactive contraction.” She winced again. “I should be fine. The babe is due in a couple weeks yet.”

“You should still sit down, my lady,” the servant said. 

“I’m fi—” the wave of pain hit her like a wall and her knees grew weak.

“My lady!” The maid shouted. “Call the maester and Lady Sansa!”

“I’m fine,” Celia whispered. “I’m…”

Everything went black. 

—

“Celia, my darling,” a familiar voice came. “Your time hasn’t come yet, sweetling. It’s time for you to go back.”

Celia opened her eyes and saw a red haired woman leaning over her. “Cat?” Her eyes focused and before her was her mother. Celia’s eyes widened and she sat up. “Mother!”

“Your time hasn’t come yet, my dear.” Celia turned and saw Elia was there as well. “Princess, what—”

“It’s time to go back.” Celia turned again and saw Lyanna Stark standing before her as well. “It’s time to go back.”

“Where’s Ned?” She pleaded. “Please, where is my husband? Have the gods not even allowed me to see him now?”

Lyanna smiled. “It’s time to go back now. The children need their mother.”

“Go back,” Princess Elia encouraged.

“Go back,” her mother whispered. 

“I want Ned,” Celia whispered. “I want Ned. Please. I need him. The baby needs him. Please.”

“Winter is coming,” Elia whispered. 

“The lone wolf dies,” her mother said. 

“But the pack survives, Lyanna finished. 

“I want Ned.”

“Not yet, Mommy,” a little voice whispered. 

“I’ll take care of him,” Lyanna whispered. “It’s time to go back now. The pack needs their mother now.”

_ Thank you.  _

—

Celia awoke to the sound of a baby crying. 

“Oh, thank the gods!” A servant cried. 

“Aunt Celia,” Sansa said, leaning over her. How she looked like her grandmother. “Aunt Celia,” she said gently, her eyes were wet with tears. “We thought we had lost you.”

“The baby,” Celia whispered. 

Sansa smiled and held a small bundle in her arms. “A little boy, Aunt Celia. You have a baby boy.”

Tears came into Celia’s eyes as she pushed herself up. She reached for her babe and tears began to flood her vision as she saw that he looked just like Ned. 

“Eddard,” she said, as soon as she saw him. “My little Neddie.”

Sansa stroked her back gently as she held her youngest son gently in her arms, memorizing every inch of his face. 

—

_ Dear Mother, _

_ I have attached a letter from King’s Landing. I am sure you recognize the penmanship as well as I do.  _

_ Mother, Father is alive. He is alive and fighting in the ways that he can while imprisoned. Mother, please stay strong. I am speaking with my aunt and uncle to see if I might be able to return to Winterfell to take care of you and the new baby, which may have been born by the time this letter reaches you. Uncle Brandon is unsure how he should proceed with Father’s instructions, but know we will figure this out.  _

_ I will see you as soon as I am able.  _

_ Mother, Father is still here and I beg that you stay strong for all our sakes. We need you as much as you need us.  _

_ Your son, _

_ Jon _

Celia looked at the letter that was written in Ned’s hand. It was his. It was his writing. She could recognize that signature, those slopes and curves of a pen anywhere. She held the letter close to her chest, tears flooding her vision, and went to her son’s cradle.  
“Your father is alive, sweetling,” she whispered. “You’ll get to meet your father soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter today because I got to talk to my brother (who lives in London) and we got sidetracked and busy venting over something he watched recently.
> 
> Also, there’s an app called Fanfic Pocket Archive Library that has been stealing Ao3 fics. They’ve stolen all of mine, go make sure yours haven’t been stolen as well. I’ve already reached out to Apple.


	33. Sansa VI

_ Dearest Sansa, _

_ As you have heard, my father is alive and the only thing that will match this joy is if the gods allow me to be there when the baby arrives. My father was only absent when Lyarra was born and I know he regrets it very much. Your father was absent for only Robb’s birth and I know he regrets it as well. I want to be there with you when our first child comes into the world. I want to hold your hand and help in your burden. I want to carry you in my arms when your feet are sore and soothe the ache that will come when you reach a certain stage of your pregnancy.  _

_ Gods, I want to be with you. I want to claim you again in our bed and bury myself inside you. _

_ Sansa, I want to do so many things with you but I can’t because of this stupid war.  _

_ If Joffrey would release my father and let the North become independent, everything would be fine, we wouldn’t have to worry about anything and I could be by your side once more.  _

_ I miss you, Sansa. I miss you so much. My heart breaks every morning I do not wake beside you. We had only just gotten our happiness and now we are separated. I long to return to your arms once more.  _

_ Wait for me, my love, for I will ravish you with my attention when I return.  _

_ Always yours, _

_ Jon _

Sansa smiled and pressed her lips to the letter. Jon was eloquent when he wrote, while he could be a little stuttering and shy in person, save for when they were in bed. 

She rubbed her belly gently. She was showing now and rounding well, based on what the maester said. 

“Your father will be home soon,” she said with a smile. “Your father and grandfathers, grandmother and oldest uncles will be back soon.” She couldn’t wait until she could feel something outside the fluttering in her stomach. “Soon.”

—

Sansa went to the nursery to check on the twins and was surprised to find them packing a small bag as though they were going to go somewhere. Granted, some of the things they were packing were toys, but still. 

“What are you doing?” Sansa asked, sitting down on the bed. 

“Pack,” the girls said in unison. 

“I can see that, but why?”

“Leave soon.”

Sansa chuckled. “We’re going back to Harrenhal after my parents and your father come back. That won’t be for a while yet so you don’t need to pack.”

“Leave soon,” Alarra said. 

“You too,” Alys nodded. 

“Alright,” Sansa said, trying to play along. “Where are we to go?”

“North!” Alys shouted. Echo barked happily at that. 

“Vale!” Alarra said, pointing to Sansa. 

“I don’t think I’m going to the Vale,” Sansa said. “Not in my condition.”

The twins came over and patted Sansa’s tummy. “Keep safe little princess,” they said. “Keep baby safe.”

Sansa opened her mouth in confusion when the nursery door opened and Jojen Reed entered.

The girls squealed in surprise and glee and ran over to him. “Practice! Practice!”

The Reed boy looked at her and nodded. “Princess.”

The three left and Sansa was more confused than she had been when she entered. 

—

Sansa dreamed of a tower of white stone that soared high above the clouds and even the moon. There was ice growing upon the window ledge, creeping into the warmth of the tower. The wind howled fiercely like a wolf in mourning. 

_ Ghost.  _

Then came a most horrible cry. It sounded so very lost and lonely. It was almost a screech and then it was accompanied by something much louder and more frightening. A roar louder than thunder. Louder than a lion. 

“Father?” Sansa turned and saw a girl with silver hair and blue eyes. “Mother, where’s Father?”

She was about to answer when she was swarmed by mockingbirds, pecking at her skin and pulling at her hair. 

Sansa awoke with a start. 

—

_ Jon, _

_ I had the strangest dream last night. I dreamed of being in a white tower and I could have sworn I heard Ghost. It was such a strange dream. But stranger still, I thought I heard a dragon. I know our family has had certain  _ dealings  _ with them, but actual dragons are gone. What’s more, I thought I heard two. One sounded mournful and the other sounded full of rage and possessiveness. I do not know what to make of it.  _

_ Then, in the same dream, I saw a girl. I think… I think she is ours. She looked like neither of us, save my eyes and your chin, but I feel as though she were ours. She had hair the color of moonlight and she was so beautiful. She called me  _ mother  _ and I felt as though my heart stopped beating.  _

_ Oh, Jon, I wish you would return to me soon.  _

_ I have thought only of girl names and have little idea of what to name our babe if it is a boy. For a girl, I believe Serena would be a beautiful name.  _

_ In other news, your new brother is adorable. Little Neddie is just such an adorable babe. I cannot help but wonder at him. By the gods I think only our own child will match his cuteness. It might just be because I am pregnant myself, but I find myself crying so easily. So, if you see a few tear stains on the parchment, know I am fine.  _

_ Return to me soon, my love. As soon as you are able.  _

_ Always yours, _

_ Sansa _


	34. Jon VI

Jon laid in his bed, wondering about the woman who birthed him and the dragon prince that had claimed her. He wondered if they had loved each other or if the rumors of the kidnapping and rape were true and there was nothing deeper to it. His uncle said that his mother had thought he would be born a girl. Why on earth would she think that? Wouldn’t she have wanted a son? Want to cement herself as Rhaegar’s mistress or second wife by having a son, an heir after Aegon?

His mind went then to Princess Elia and his older half-siblings. He had been the oldest for all his life, but had Rhaegar and Lyanna lived, had Princess Elia and Rhaenys and Aegon lived, he would have been the youngest or even the middle child if Lyanna had more children. What would it have been like to have an older sister and an older brother? Would he be as close to Aegon as he was with Robb or even closer? Would he have gone to Rhaenys for girl advice and been her shining knight in monster and maidens? He could not see Rhaegar or Lyanna parenting him. When he thought of his father and mother, the man and woman who raised him came to mind and he could not imagine having any other parents. It was impossible to contemplate. 

Why had Rhaegar started a rebellion by stealing Lyanna instead of taking her publicly as his mistress? It would have been horrible but easily possible. What purpose was it that Rhaegar did as he did? Jon couldn’t imagine leaving Sansa or their children with someone he did not trust and did not think would care for them. He knew enough of his history to know that the Mad King didn’t care for his Dornish good daughter nor his Dornish looking granddaughter. How could Rhaegar leave them to be hostages? Even if Rhaegar’s marriage to Princess Elia hadn’t been a love match…

There had been a couple of camp followers that had propositioned themselves to him, but he had made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t interested. True, he had needs just as any other man, but he survived then with his hand and thoughts of Sansa. Jon simply couldn’t fathom betraying his wife in such a way as Rhaegar had. 

Jon would probably never understand his sire, and he wasn’t sure if he ever wanted to. 

—

“I’m sorry,” Jon said lamely. It felt strange trying to comfort his cousin, to console him in his lack of choice. Jon knew full well how lucky he was to marry a girl he loved. Most didn’t even get the offer to marry someone they simply liked and plenty had to build up their love from the marriage bed onward. His aunt and uncle had, as had his parents. Although, his mother said she had loved his father since she was a little girl, so he supposed she was lucky too. 

“I did what I had to do,” Robb replied. 

“You never know,” Theon said. “She might be pretty.”

Jon winced slightly. They hadn’t seen any pretty girls in the Twins at all. To be fair, Jon wasn’t really looking in general, so he might have missed one. 

“Maybe,” Robb muttered. 

“Well, think on the bright side,” Theon said. “Arya’s probably going to murder you when she finds out you’ve betrothed her to a Frey. You might not even be alive to get married then.”

Jon had to bite down in his lips to keep himself from smiling, holding a chuckle down. Robb shoved the Ironborn boy and Theon actually did laugh.

“I’m sure there is at least ONE pretty Frey girl. It could be worse.”

“What could possibly be worse?” Jon asked. “King Robert could have asked for you to marry his daughter, Myrcella, only to find out who her real parents are.”

“True,” Jon nodded. “It could be worse.”

Robb sighed. “I did what I had to do. But at least Father has access to the Twins and more soldiers. Not a bad pay off.”

“Exactly,” Theon said. “See, the bright side.”

“Let's just focus on getting Uncle Ned back,” Robb said. 

“I want this war to end quickly,” Jon said. 

“Of course you would,” Theon joked. “You’ll have a wife and babe waiting for you in Winterfell.”

Jon smiled. 

“How is Sansa?” Robb asked. “She hardly writes to me and only writes to you.”

“She’s doing well. We’re thinking of names.”

“What names?” Theon asked. 

“We only have girl ones. Sansa thinks Serena would be a nice one.”

“Serena Stark,” Robb tested the name in his mouth. “It’s pretty.”

“Any boy names?” Theon continued. 

“We were going to name him after my father, but Mother just had a boy and named him Eddard, so that’s out.”

“Theon’s a Stark name,” the Ironborn teased. 

“Piss off, Theon,” Jon replied and the boy in question barked out a laugh. 

—

_ Dearest Sansa, _

_ We, Robb and Theon and I, think that Serena would be a good name for a girl. I worry that she will look as you described in your dream. I hated to do so, but I had to burn that letter to be safe. If she looks as she does, your father might push for me to take my birthright. I know Father seems to think I should as well. I don’t want to put you and our child in danger. What should I do? _

_ Yours, _

_ Jon _

—

_ My love, _

_ I trust you with mine and our child and our future children’s lives. Do what you think is best, but I would discuss it further with my father. I have burned your last letter as well, just in case. Know you are in my thoughts and prayers and I shall pray the gods give you and my father wisdom in this. It will change both of our lives and I fear at the same time it may bring us more danger. _

_ Selfishly, I ask that you keep your lineage a secret that we might be safe, but perhaps Westeros needs you to be truthful. So much of the troubles our kingdoms have seen is due to untruths and lies. _

_ I trust you. _

_ All my love, _

_ Sansa _

—

Jon didn’t have time to properly speak to his uncle as they ambushed Lannister forces in the Whispering Wood. Jon had been forced to work alongside Daryn Hornwood, Eddard and Torrhen Karstark. Most of the men did not favor him, but they respected his skill at least. 

However, this was a battle of surprise, and once the surprise was lost, it did not mean they had it on their side. 

They had cornered the Kingslayer and the man fought like a lion cornered. He was wild and ruthless and the men Jon was with did not last long until he was the only one left. Jon’s sword met the Kingslayer’s. It took Jon’s breath away and how good the man was. An idea sparked. They needed the Kingslayer alive. A hostage to get his father back. 

Jon’s mind went dark until he held his sword to the Kingslayer’s throat. Instead of looking pissed at his defeat, the man looked up at him in shock. 

“_ You. _”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always wondered if Jaime would have better recognized Jon as Rhaegar’s son had he met and seen Jon in the light of day while also seeing him fight.


	35. Catelyn I

Robb got off his horse as Jon and Theon pushed the Kingslayer to the ground. 

“By the time they knew what was happening,” her son stated, “it had already happened.”

“Lady Stark,” Ser Jaime Lannister said casually, as though this were a council meeting. “Lord Stark. I’d offer you my sword, but I seem to have lost it.”

“It is not your sword I want, Kingslayer,” Brandon growled. “Give me my niece back. Give me my brother.”

“I’ve lost them too, I’m afraid.”

Rage boiled in Catelyn’s body and if she were not raised better she would have slapped the man who knelt before her. But she knew not to harm a hostage. 

“We should kill him, my lord,” Theon said. “Send his head to his father. He cut down our men. You saw him, Robb. Jon was barely able to get him.”

“Ah, Jon,” the Kingslayer said. “What was it? Rivers? Sand? Snow? No,” he said. “That can’t be right. Surely, in your case it would be Bla—”

Catelyn’s blood ran cold. 

“He’s more use to us alive than dead,” Brandon said, hitting the Lannister knight off. 

“Take him away,” Catelyn said. “And put him in irons. Gag him as well.”

“We could end this war right now, Brandon, save thousands of lives.” The Kingslayer’s green eyes borrowed into Brandon’s grey. “You fight for the Starks, I fight for the Lannisters. Sword or landed, teeth, nails—choose your weapons and let’s end this here and now, King in the North.”

Brandon did not answer for a long moment and, for a moment, Catelyn thought that Brandon would agree. 

“If I won, do you truly believe your family would honor your words?” Brandon asked. “Do you think your family would let my brother go and cease their binding of my niece? Would they let the North and the Riverlands go to independence? I don’t think so. I don’t believe in the word of a Lannister. Words are wind, but yours aren’t even a breeze.” Brandon motioned with his hand for Greatjon Umber to take the Kinglsayer away. 

“Two thousand men have been sent to their graves this day,” Brando said gently. 

“The bards will sing songs of their sacrifice,” Theon said. 

“Aye,” Robb said. “But the dead won't hear them.”

Brandon looked at the three boys. “With every victory there is a loss. Never forget that. For our victory was built on the loss of other families.”

—

Catelyn stood before the Kingslayer as he stared up at her. “What do you know?” she demanded. 

“You and your husband were foolish to let the Rivers boy fight against any who had been there to witness what his father was like in the training yard. Although Robert Baratheon beat Prince Rhaegar, it did not mean the Young Dragon was unskilled in fighting. I know that look anywhere. I remember it when he returned from… where would he have been? Ah, the Tower of Joy. I now understand it. That boy had a pregnant wife back in Winterfell, doesn’t he?” Catelyn stiffened. How could they possibly know such a thing? “Ah, so that whisper _ is _true. Well, it turns out Rhaegar did too, whether Lyanna Stark was a mistress or a wife, who’s to say.”

“And what do you suppose to do with this alleged information?” Catelyn asked. 

“Do you think your men will fight for you when they learn you have raised a dragon amongst your wolves and fish? Do you think they will follow you when the son of the woman they thought raped that many of their brothers and fathers died for lives?” He was sneering, his somewhat handsome features twisted. 

“They would see that we were better than Robert or your father,” Catelyn said coolly. “For Starks do not punish a child for the sins of their father. The first vow you broke was not to protect the Mad King. The first vow you broke was protecting Princess Elia and her children. The supposed son of the prince you once vowed to serve draws breath. Your loyalties swing depending on your mood. Tell me, what would your bastard son think if someone had a better claim to the Iron Throne than he. All my people and I want is independence and Ned Stark returned to us. If he still wants his Iron Throne, think on that.”

Catelyn turned and left the Kingslayer alone in his cell. 

—

“We don’t want Balon Greyjoy for an ally,” Catelyn said, staring at her husband with a glare. 

“We need his ships,” Robb said. “They say he has two hundred.”

“They say a million rats live in the sewers of King’s Landing,” Catelyn said coolly. “Shall we rally them to fight for us?” She turned from them and began to pack. 

“Cat,” Brandon warned. “I understand that you don’t trust Lord Greyjoy—”

“I don’t trust Lord Greyjoy because he is not trustworthy. You and Ned both went to war to end his rebellion.”

“Yes,” Brandon agreed. “And now I’m the one rebellion against the throne. Your father did the same when my father was killed and you were a rebel and mothered another.”

“Celia and I both did,” something you seem to forget.”

“I cannot trade the Kingslayer for Ned yet. There have been no promises. If I did it without assurance, the bannermen would string me up by my feet.”

“Celia has given birth already. She needs Ned by her side. And Arya, we have heard nothing of her. What are we fighting for if not to bring our family home?”

“It’s more complicated than that,” Brandon said. He nodded for Robb to leave. When their son did, Brandon cupped his wife’s face in her hands. “You know that.”

Catelyn closed her eyes. “It’s time for me to go home. I haven’t seen Rickon in months and our daughter is to have her first child soon. If Jon cannot be there, then I do.”

“You can’t go to Winterfell.”

Catelyn pulled her face away from Brandon’s hands. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’ll send Rodrick to watch over Rickon and the girls. Tomorrow, I need you to ride south to the Stormlands.”

“Why in the name of all the gods—”

“Because I need you to negotiate with Renly Baratheon. He’s rallied an army of one hundred thousand. You know him. You know his family. You might be able to speak reason to him.”

“I haven’t seen Renly Baratheon since he was a boy,” Catelyn argued. “Celia has seen and known him more recently. You have a hundred other lords who could—”

“Which of these lords do I trust more than you?” He said, cupping her face again in his hands. “You are my greatest ally and confidant. I would blaspheme the gods a before I lost all my trust in you. If Renly sides with us, if we can get the Baratheon brothers to put aside their differences for a moment, we’ll outnumber the Lannisters two to one. When they feel the jaws beginning to shut, they’ll sue for peace and we’ll get Arya and Ned back and bring them home to Celia and the girls and we never have to leave Winterfell again unless you want to.”

Catelyn closed her eyes. “I will ride at first light. But I ask that you give me Jon. I do not trust the Kingslayer.”

Brandon Ser his lips gently against hers and Catelyn wound her arms around his neck. The kiss slowly melted into a warm embrace and Catelyn buried her face into her husband’s neck. 

“We will all be together again soon, I promise.”

—

“We ride to the Stormlands at first light,” she told her nephew. 

Jon looked up at her in surprise. Knowing the truth of his parentage helped Catelyn see the Targaryen in him. Not the attitude, but the features. His cheekbones and the slight oddness about his grey eyes in a true summer light. It was no wonder it was easy to think him Ashara’s boy. 

“The Stormlands?” He stood. “What are we to do there?”

“See if we can knock some sense in the Baratheon brothers,” she said. “You know Renly, do you not?”

“Not well,” he admitted. “I have seen him in tourneys, but I’m no knight so I never really participated. He was never really interested in anyone… sullen.”

Catelyn’s lips quirked into a smile. “After we have done what we can, I am sending you to the Vale.”

“The Vale? Why?”

“You are to ask my sister to take up our cause.”

“Your sister doesn’t know the truth. Surely she would hate—dislike me as much as you once did for shaming my mother.”

Catelyn shook her head. “In truth, I think it may help.” She nodded. “Get some sleep and pack tonight before you do. Again, we leave at first light.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cat has her plans! And a moment between Brandon and Cat! 🥰


	36. Ned VI

Ned looked up towards the entrance of his cell and saw Cersei standing before him. Her golden dress brushed against the dirty floor and Ned had no doubt the woman would throw the dress away rather easily. Celia would have figured out for a way to have it cleaned or have even lifted it slightly with her hands to keep more of the dress clean of the dirt of the cell. The queen’s golden hair looked dull in the light and, for a moment, he thought he saw a touch of grey. If the color hadn’t been there before, he had no doubt it was the stress of the situation that caused it. 

“Your grace,” Ned said dutifully. 

She narrowed her eyes and her lip curled in annoyance. “My brother has been captured by yours,” she said, lifting her chin. “Your family used underhanded tactics to do so.”

“Did my brother use poison? Did he lure them under the idea of truce?”

“No, he—” 

“Then it wasn’t underhanded. It was probably an ambush, something even the most incompetent soldier is fully aware of.” Ned cocked his head. “Do you deem everything that does not go your way underhanded? Did you think the Martells did something underhanded when Princess Elia married Rhaegar? Did you think the gods did something underhanded when your secrets and lies were revealed to the world?”

Cersei’s features attempted to remain calm, but Nes could see the subtle twitch of her lip as she wanted to snarl. 

“I suggest you agree to a trade with my brother, a king crowned by his people. They can give them me and you stop hunting my daughter and you allow the North and the Riverlands their independence. Do all that and I am sure you will get your brother back and you will have no need to waste money on an unnecessary war. Do you have the funds? I know Robert had a lot of debt with the Iron Bank, and considering your Master of Coin appears to have been corrupted, I doubt your books are as in order as you initially thought.”

“The crown belongs to my son,” Cersei growled. “My son is a Baratheon.” Ned snorted. “And the Lannisters shall help him rule. It belongs to us. It’s our right.”

“It was once a right that belonged to the Targaryens,” Ned said. “The Targaryens held the throne for three hundred years full of war and rebellion. Shall the Lannisters hold the throne for the same amount of time in the same way? You do not even have dragons to hold it. And through it all, the Starks will endure.”

“You can not speak to me that way.”

“I am your prisoner, one you cannot kill in worry that they will retaliate and kill your brother. I can speak to you as I wish. If you know what’s good for you, you would encourage your son to think on my ideas for how you might end this war before it grows out of control.”

—

Being imprisoned left Ned plenty of times to think of his wife, think of how he could have made things better. 

He had no doubt that Brandon told Celia, and probably Cat and Jon, the truth of Jon’s birth. He wondered if Celia was angry. If she was angered at his deception. He knew that her worry about Ashara and her own sense of worth was always put into question every time she gave birth to a daughter or every time Ned put special attention on Jon. 

She must have been angry. He could see her in all her righteous anger and he would have still found her beautiful. 

His feelings for Ashara had been lust. He had been a greenboy allowed to become a man under the tutelage of a beautiful woman. She had been his source of comfort in a rebellion he felt lost in. Perhaps his feelings would have developed into love had he had the time. However, Ned couldn’t imagine loving anyone the way he loved Celia. 

His wife was gentle and kind and generous in her affection. She soothed him in a way that brought out his inner peace. Many called him the Quiet Wolf, but it was because Celia made his mind clear. She helped soothe the beast that lay beneath his skin. She was his life and light.

He could have ten thousand years by her side and it would still not be enough. 

Ned stared up at the ceiling. He prayed that the gods might reunite them soon. 

—

“Is there any news?” Ned asked. 

He had grown used to the Spider’s entrances. It was as though everything became too quiet for just a moment in time. 

“Your son and good sister appear to be heading for the Stormlands while your brother’s ward, Theon Greyjoy seems to be heading for the Iron Islands,” Lord Varys said. “Your sin’s wife appears to be doing well in her pregnancy.”

“And my wife?”

“Congratulations, my lord. You have a son who takes your name. The news of you being alive did not seem to reach the North before your wife gave birth. Congratulations on a son.” The Spider bowed and took his leave. 

Ned stared at the place the man left. A laugh escaped his lips.

A son. 

The gods had granted him a son. 

—

While Petyr Baelish was dragged from his cell, Ned was merely brought out. They followed the guards, Baelish kicking and shouting. Ned sighed. If there was one time a man should be wholly dignified, it should be in the face of a known death. It was fine to be afraid, but when one knew the time he was to meet the gods, he should use the moments to find peace within himself and hold onto a memory most dear. His, of course, was Celia. The girl he had first met and the women he grew to love and admire. 

Ned wondered if Baelish had anything like that. 

Ned stood to the side, between two guards, as Baelish was forced to his knees, shouting his innocence. 

“Behold!” Joffrey shouted. “The reason you’re husbands and sons and brothers fight in a war and our Seven Kingdoms have broken. Betrayal of this sort shall not stand and soon  _ I  _ shall right the wrongs this man has caused. Ser Gregor, his head!”

“I’m innocent!” Baelish screamed. “Inn—”

While others might have looked away, Ned did not. He remembered Celia once saying that her sister, Lysa, had always been rather in love with Petyr Baelish. Now, Ned had no doubt that the Vale would join in the fray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baelish is out of the way, but is the Mockingbird truly gone?


	37. Sansa VII

Word soon reaches the North that Petyr Baelish had been killed by Joffrey Baratheon, beheaded before a roaring crowd. 

Sansa did not know much about Petyr Baelish, having only heard of him in passing when her parents discussed their first meeting. Her parents had officially been presented to one another as betrothed for the the first time, about a year before the fateful Tourney at Harrenhal and Petyr Baelish had challenged her father to a duel with the winner being allowed to claim Sansa’s mother’s hand. Her father had won, of course, but Sansa did not know much of Petyr Baelish beyond that and his childhood position as a ward to Sansa’s grandfather. 

She went to her aunt, who was nursing Neddie as she hummed softly to him. 

“Were you close to Lord Baelish?” Sansa asked as she sat down next to her aunt. The older woman didn’t seem upset about the news. Her expression had been carefully blank, but that was all, when the news had been received. 

“He was always closer to Cat and Lysa than he was to me,” her aunt said. “I was never fond of him. He was a horrid man in many ways. I mourn him as I might any other acquaintance, but I have not seen him in years.”

Sansa nodded. “Do you think the Vale will join our rebellion?”

Celia sighed. “Who’s to say. I find it strange that Lysa hasn’t joined already. We shall see undue time, I think.”

—

Sansa held a little silver haired girl in her arms, running quickly as a keep of stone and snow quivered about her as a roar resounded across the air. 

The girl clung to her, crying as she buried her face in Sansa’s neck. “Scared, Mother,” the girl cried. “Don’t let it eat me.”

Sansa continued to run as she heard a ghost wolf howl into the wind. 

_ Jon.  _

She needed to get to him. She needed to get to him. 

_ Mine! _

A roar reverberated through the keep and Sansa felt it shake in her chest as she held the girl tightly. 

“It’s going to be okay, sweetling. It’s going to be okay.”

_ Mine! _

Sansa felt a growl rip through her throat. “Ours,” she said. “He’s ours, not yours!”

She awoke with a start as she felt a sharp pain in her stomach, a kick. Sansa sat up and put her hand to her belly, feeling her babe moving within her, as though trying to fight off its mother’s nightmares. 

“It’s okay, sweetling. Mother’s okay. It’s just a bad dream.” She laid back down, rubbing her belly and trying to fall back asleep once the babe began to settle once more. 

—

Sansa lit a candle for her Aunt Lyanna’s statue, putting back a feather that seemed to have fallen into her stone hand. The stone face before her was carved beautifully, but her features seemed older than the sixteen-year-old girl that had been taken from the world like a flickering flame. 

She wondered what would have happened had her aunt lived. Had Prince Rhaegar won the rebellion. 

Would Aerys have continued to be on the throne or would he still have been killed by Ser Jaime Lannister? Would Jon have grown up in King’s Landing? Would her aunt and uncle have married if not for Jon? How much of their lives would have changed if just one or two more people lived?

“If you were alive, would you think all this worth it?” Sansa asked the quiet statue. “Would you be alright with how things have become? Would you be angry? Was this all worth it?”

The stones gave her no answer, but Sansa hadn’t expected them to. 

“Please look after Jon while my aunt can’t,” she asked. “Please.”

A slight whisper of a draft seemed to answer her. 

—

“Princess.”

Sansa turned and saw Jojen Reed standing behind her. “Is there something you need?”

“I have something to tell you.”

“Oh?” Even though he was a rather mysterious boy, sometimes, his tone reminded her of Robb when they were children as he tried to speak to their parents as though he were an adult. “What is it?”

“In a year’s time, you need to go to the Vale. You and Lady Celia.”

Sansa narrowed her eyes. “Pardon?”

“It’s important. You need to be there to see him again.”

“See who again? Jon?”

“I’m sorry,” the boy said. “I can’t tell you more. It’s important.”

The boy left Sansa with more questions and with answers to questions she had never even thought of. 


	38. Arya VII

Arya and Gendry made it safely to the next town once they had saved enough money to buy a very old horse. Even so, it was a sweet thing, with Arya deciding to name her Alysanne. The mare was beautiful, even though it was old. It was a dappled grey with very beautiful brown eyes. Gendry rolled his eyes when she spoke to it as though Alysanne were a baby, but Arya saw him give her a sugar cube a time or two on their journey. 

Gendry was… rather handsome. In a stupid sort of way. His smile was more genuine than any of the boys Arya had met in the Riverlands and most definitely more mature than Joffrey ever was. 

The thought of the bastard king made Arya’s heart burn in anger and she pushed thoughts of him aside. 

“We’ll stop here for now,” Gendry said. “We need to make a little more money before we can move on again. It would be easier if we were moving in a group, but we’re by ourselves.”

Arya nodded. “As long as we stay away from the conflict.”

Gendry sighed. “I’m just worried about ruffians and thrives on the road. We might have to be more careful. You know how to use that needle right?”

Arya huffed. “Well enough. What of you? I prefer a hammer and I carry a smaller one in my belt, but I prefer one that can make a man sing.”

Arya rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say.”

—

“Did you hear?” A man said, sitting down right next to Arya. Gendry glared at him until he moved a more appropriate distance away. The man coughed. “Lord Eddard Stark is apparently alive.”

Arya froze. 

“What?” Gendry spoke for her. “That’s impossible.”

“No one saw him get executed,” the man said. “It wasn’t a public execution like they did with that Baelish person and he was a nobody. I wonder if the North will still want independence if their king’s brother is still alive.”

“Could I have some wine, please,” Arya called. She’s never had wine before, not as much as she was asking for. Her father had only ever allowed her to take a sip from his goblet. However, Arya needed a drink. 

The rest of the night was a blur as she continued to drink, Gendry apologizing occasionally when she got too loud until he brought her to the room they were staying in. 

Arya couldn’t remember much, but she remembered the softness of his lips and the way he tucked her into bed afterward. 

—

“What exactly do you remember about last night?” Gendry asked as he gave Arya a cup of well water. 

“Did I kiss you?” Arya asked, blushing. 

“Yeah,” Gendry replied, his face turning red. “You did.” They are both silent for a moment. “I know we’re pretending to be a married couple and I know that you just learned your father is alive, but… we can’t do something like that.”

“Why not?” The question stumbled from Arya’s lips without thought. She took her bottom one between her teeth to stop herself from saying anything else. 

“Because you’re a lady and I’m just a bastard.”

“But we could be family still,” Arya said. 

He looked at her with his clear blue eyes. “That’s not what happened last night implies.”

“Even so—”

“You wouldn’t be my family. You’d be my lady.”

Arya blushed and turned away. “I need to change,” she said. “Please leave.”

He sighed. “I’m sorry, my lady.”

Arya didn’t even cry when he closed the door. 

—

That night, Arya laid awake as Gendry slept beside her. She could still feel the softness of his lips. 

She had a duty as the heir of Harrenhal, but at the same time. But hadn’t Jon been made her father’s heir or was that only temporary?

If Jon was her father’s heir, wouldn’t that give Arya the freedom to marry Gendry if…

Would he even want to? What if he was just being polite? What if he said those things to let her down gently?

Arya sighed. She wished she could talk to her mother and ask what she should do.


	39. Theon I

“I’ll see you Starks later, I suppose,” Theon said, packing up his horse to ride to White Harbor. From there he would head to the Iron Islands to meet with his father and seek peace between the North and the Ironborn, both fighting against the crown for freedom. 

It was a massive task, but Lord Stark has entrusted him to it. He was surprised that Lord Stark had thought it a good idea. Theon has just been suggesting things he might be able to do. He wasn’t the best fighter, nowhere near as good as Robb or Jon, but this, at least, was something he could do. 

“We’ll see you soon,” Robb said, patting his back when they hugged. “I need to go meet with my father.”

Theon watched Robb walk away, sadly. 

“He’s going to miss you,” Jon said. “You’re a brother to him and he’s going to miss you. I’m sure Lady Stark will have wanted you here too, you tend to keep him out of trouble.”

Theon laughed. “Or lead him into it.”

Jon chuckled. 

“How’s Sansa?”

“The baby’s growing. She’s more and more certain that it’s a girl, but part of me hopes it’s a boy.”

Theon narrowed his eyes. “Why’s that? I thought you were excited about having a girl.”

“I am,” Jon said. “I just… I worry. Sansa and I both have been having dreams of a daughter and they aren’t usually pleasant. I’m just worried that if we have a daughter something dark will happen.”

Theon put his hand on Jon’s shoulder. “Boy or girl, you’ll be a good father, Jon. You’re good with the girls, I’m sure you’d be great with your own too.”

Jon smiled. “I told Sansa that, if we have a boy, we should name him after you.”

“Me?” Theon asked, taken aback. “Why?”

“Theon Stark was a man of war, but he won. Sansa and I think it might be good luck. But also… you know I’m not really a Stark, and, even if my uncle has legitimized me, I’m not truly a Stark but neither will my children. You’re the same, in a way. Raised by Starks while not really being one. Yet… we are Starks, you and I. We were raised to believe the same things, believe in right and wrong. Even if my son isn’t a true Stark like Robb or Bran or Rickon, I want my son to be a Stark in values, so, Sansa and I suppose we want him to be like you. Maybe with a little less whoring though.”

“I was almost touched,” Theon said sarcastically. “And I’ll have you know I’ve been as chaste as a maester since Winterfell.”

Jon chuckled. “I’ll see you soon, Theon. Hopefully by the time you're back, we’ll have Renly Baratheon on our side as well and we can all go home.”

Theon hugged his friend tightly. “I’ll see you soon.”

—

Theon had hated the Starks at first. He hated that his older brothers were dead and hated that he had to leave his home to be in the North. He could still remember his mother crying out for him as he sailed away on a Northern ship. 

He had hated the North, but hated the Starks most of all. 

He wasn’t part of them, no matter how much Lord Stark tried to make him feel as though the North were his home. 

It wasn’t Lord Stark who made him feel like one of them though. No, that had been Sansa. 

It had been his tenth nameday. 

It was a small affair, he wasn’t a Stark so he didn’t get a big feast like the others. He had gotten one that past year when he turned sixteen, but he didn’t make a great deal out of his birthday anyway. 

His tenth nameday came and he expected the usual small trinkets from the Stark children and perhaps some new shirt from Lady Stark and a practice sword from Lord Stark. He hadn’t expected Sansa’s gift. 

She had seen him a handkerchief with a brown direwolf on it. It was well made, considering she had been eight at the time and he had liked it, although he told her sweetly that a kraken would have been better. 

“Why?” she had asked him. 

Theon had tried explaining to her that he wasn’t a Stark, but a Greyjoy, so his sigil was a kraken, not a direwolf. 

“But you’re my brother,” she had said in exasperation. 

“I’m not though,” he told her. 

This had apparently been the wrong thing to say as Sansa had begun to cry and ran to her parents about Theon lying and being mean by telling her that he wasn’t her brother. Lord Stark had tried to explain that Theon’s parents were in the Pyke, although it was difficult for him to explain why Theon was there. 

Sansa has just kicked and screamed, which was unusual for her, and demanded that Theon  _ was  _ her brother and that he was a Stark just like the rest of them. Her reason being that Uncle Ned and Aunt Celia and their children lived South and were from there, but were still Starks.

Just as he had with the Twins, Theon had to calm her down by telling her that he was a Stark and he had just been mean to her. She had demanded to be held the rest of the day, save for meals, and Lord Stark had pulled him aside, apologizing for Sansa. But that’s when Theon admitted it. 

He  _ did  _ want to be a Stark. He could hardly remember the Greyjoys save for his mother’s crying, but that was it. The word  _ home _ brought images of Winterfell and the word  _ family _ brought images of the Starks. 

He wanted to be a Stark and he was, in every way but blood. 

—

“I need to get to Pyke,” he told the man that was sitting at the port. He hadn’t expected anything grand for his arrival, but he thought someone would be there to greet them. They knew he was coming. He had thought maybe some Ironborn men would greet him and take him to his father or anyone really. But there was no one to greet him. 

Apparently, they hadn’t missed him at all. Every time Lord Eddard visited with his family, everyone in Winterfell acted as though it had been a lifetime since they had last seen each other. Each time was a moment of great joy, there was none to be found in these islands of iron. 

“I’m heading that way.” Theon looked up and saw a woman upon a horse. “I can take you there.”

“Do you wish to be paid now or later?” Theon asked. This woman looked familiar, but he couldn’t place it, couldn’t place the name or the face, but it stirred a memory that was foggy and left more questions than answers. 

“I need no payment,” the woman said and motioned for him to sit behind her. 

“Is that because you heard my name or expect me to pay you in a bed?” He was weary of this woman. She seemed to be forever shifting, as though a horse was not where she was meant to be. 

“You think I offer free rides to every man in jewelry, Lord Greyjoy.”

“If you speak of my necklace, it was a gift from one of the Stark cousins.” A necklace made of weirwood. It had the image of a wolf on one side and the image of a Kraken on the other. Lyarra had made it for him. She was at an age where most boys were handsome and gross all at once. Although she had apparently taken a liking to the Reed boy that had come to Winterfell. Even so, Theon liked to imagine he was the girl's first fancy. He dared not break her heart and refuse the thoughtful gift. 

“Have a wife, do you?” The woman before him asked. 

“No, but girls who look to me as an older brother when they find their own ones to be boring. One is married now with a babe on the way. The father bids me come and go quickly, for he worries that there are few men to protect her.”

“Hm.” 

He probably shouldn’t have said that. But he felt some ease about this woman. Like he does around Sansa and even Arya. A sister, perhaps. 

Asha. That had been her name. 

Theon remained wary. If she wasn’t his sister, he didn’t want to appear foolish. If she was, then he could not trust her in why she did not properly introduce herself. 

—

The Pyke was different from how Theon remembered it. It felt smaller than it had been, but the cliffs were still crumbling and the keep stood on a barren island of small stacks of rocks. The castle was greyish black, as though it had grown from the stones itself and was covered in green lichen. 

It didn’t feel like home at all, even when he entered, even when he stood before his father. 

Theon bowed to the man that sired him, but felt no reverence, not the same that he felt for Lord Stark or even Lord Eddard. “Father.”

“Nine years, is it?” Lord Balon asked. “They took a frightened boy. What have they given back?”

“A man,” Theon replied. “Your blood and your heir.”

“We shall see,” his father said. “Stark had you longer than I did.”

“Barely,” Theon said. “I’ve brought you a proposal from Lord Stark.”

“Who gave you those clothes?” His father asked, standing. “Was it Ned Brandon’s pleasure to make you his daughter?”

“They keep the cold at bay,” Theon said. “I had not thought to change. If they offend you, I will change them.”

“They do.” He walked towards Theon. “FhF bauble around your neck. Did you pay the Iron price for it or the gold?” Theon did not answer at first. “I asked a question. Did you pull it from the neck of a corpse you made or did you buy it to match your fine clothes? Iron or gold?

“Neither,” Theon said harshly. “It was a gift made by a Stark to show my allegiance to you as my father and to them as the ones who had me in their care.” His father reached to grab it, but Theon grabbed his wrist before he could rip it off. “I advise that you do not destroy it. I will only give it to you for the iron price, but as I live, I will not have what is mine taken. Yes, I was a kraken raised by wolves, but I think you forget how possessive a wolf can be. Twice now they have rebelled against the crown for one of their own being wronged. They are not to be taken lightly.”

His father let go of the necklace and Theon released his hand. “The Stark lord sends you to me like a trained raven, clutching his message.”

“The offer he makes is one I proposed.”

“He heeds your counsel?”

“He raised me with his sons and his daughter, his only daughter, is to name her son for me, should she be blessed with a boy. I am a brother to his daughter and to his sons.”

“Do not speak to me of that here. Do not call them your brothers. This is the man who put your true brothers to the sword. Or have you forgotten your own blood?”

“I forget nothing. I remember my brothers. I remember my mother crying as you gave me to Lord Stark. I also remember that you wanted to be king.”

He handed his sire the letter and Lord Balon took it and read it. “I see. I destroy Brandon Stark's enemies for him and he will make me King of the Iron Islands once again.”

“I will lead the attack myself.”

“Oh, you will?”

“I was trained by a man who has won a rebellion already and already drives back the Lannister forces as we speak. I have training. Use me and you will have your crown and the Greyjoys will be prosperous once more, no longer serving a Southron or even a Northern king.” The door opened and the woman who had brought him there entered. “Asha, I presume?”

The woman stopped for a moment. “You recognized me?” she asked. “Yet you said nothing?”

“If you did not wish to reveal yourself to me, how could I trust you?” Theon turned to his father. “You wish her to lead the attack?”

“This isn't Winterfell, boy. Your sister took over command of your eldest brother's ship after your new father killed him.”

“What’s dead may never die,” Theon said. “And that will be our house if we do not make allies.”

Lord Balon tossed the letter into the fire. “No man gives me a crown. I pay the iron price. I will take my crown. That is who I am. That is who we have always been.”

“You won't stand a chance against the Lannisters on your own.” A sinking feeling came to his chest. He did not like this one bit.

“Who said anything about the Lannisters?” his father asked. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theon’s a fair bit more smarter than canon and more loyal.


	40. Jon VII

“What seems to worry you?” his aunt asked as they rode southward. 

“I worry for Sansa and my mother and sisters, Arya more than anything. Part of me hopes that we might find her on this journey, but I’m not sure.”

“Those are your worries that are known,” the Tully woman said. “What are the worries you have kept close to your chest in fear of them becoming reality?”

Jon chewed his lip in thought. “I worry about being a father. Sansa will be the perfect mother, with her kindness and good humor, her willingness to reprimand. I fear being a horrible father that will have no love from his children. I fear spoiling them, hoping to never gain their disregard. I fear not living up to the example of the man who raised me and my Uncle Brandon.”

“If you fear such a thing,” the woman said beside him. “You are already in the makings of being a good father. No parent is perfect and we do what we can to protect and raise our children with love and care, but we make mistakes. You shall as well. It’s about how we handle the mistakes that define ourselves as parents.”

“But what if I can’t do it?”

“You’re good with your sisters and always have been. You love your child, even though they are not born yet. You are already a good father in the making.”

—

Jon looked on in surprise as the victorious knight revealed themself to be a woman. While she was not pretty by any standard, it was obvious that she was a woman. His shock was coupled by humor when he could see the look of humiliation on Ser Loras Tyrell’s face. Jon had met the man once or twice and felt him to be pompous. The fact that he had been defeated by a woman made Jon smirk ever so slightly. 

“You are all your father promised and more, my lady,” Renly Baratheon said. “I've seen Ser Loras bested once or twice, but never quite in that fashion.”

“Now, now, my love,” Renly’s wife said. “My brother fought valiantly for you.” That must make her Margaery Tyrell. She was as pretty as he vaguely remembered her being, but nowhere near as radiant as Sansa.

“That he did, my queen,” Renly admitted. “But there can only be one champion. Brienne of Tarth, you may ask anything of me you desire. If it is within my power, it is yours.”

The lady knight, Brienne of Tarth kneeled. “Your grace, I ask the honor of a place in your Kingsguard.”

“What?” Loras shouted. 

Jon’s mouth went agape as he heard the crowd gasp. 

“I will be one of your seven,” she continued. “Pledge my life to yours, and keep you safe from all harm.”

“Done,” Renly said. “Rise, Brienne of the Kingsguard.”

The crowd applauded and Ser Colen, the man who was their guide in the camp, made way to Renly and his wife. Jon and his aunt followed behind him. 

“Your grace,” Ser Colen began. “I have the honor to bring you Lady Catelyn Stark and Jon Stark, sent as an envoy by Brandon Stark, Lord of Winterfell.”

“Lord of Winterfell and King in the North,” the Tully woman corrected.

“Lady Catelyn,” Renly said, not bothering to stand. “I'm pleased to see you. May I present my wife, Margaery of House Tyrell?”

“You are very welcome here, Lady Stark. I’m so sorry for the belief, however brief it was, of your good brother, Lord Eddard’s death.”

“You are most kind,” the older woman said with a slight bow of the head.

“My lady, I swear to you I will see the Lannisters answer for your good brother's imprisonment. When I take King's Landing, I'll bring you Joffrey's head.”

The crowd began to cheer and Jon sensed his lady aunt take a breath before continuing. “It will be enough to know that justice was done, my lord.”

“Your grace,” the lady knight corrected. “And you should kneel when you approach the king.”

“There's no need for that. Lady Stark is an honored guest,” Renly said. 

“Then you must address her properly,” Jon said. He could sense his aunt’s unease as he spoke. “The woman before you is not a mere lady. She is Queen of the North. My aunt may be too modest to boast such a title, but she is queen nonetheless. If you wish us to respect your title, respect hers as well.”

Renly turned his gaze to Jon. “Were you not Jon Rivers last we met?”

“Aye, but I have been made legitimate by my uncle and married to my cousin Lady Sansa, who is already with a babe on the way.” He glanced at Margaery Tyrell and looked her over for but a moment. “May the gods bless you with a child soon.”

Renly’s mouth twitched slightly before returning to a firm line. 

“Has your son marched against Tywin Lannister yet?” Loras Tyrell asked, interrupting the conversation. 

“I do not sit on my husband’s war councils,” Queen Catelyn said disdainfully. “And if I did, I would not share his strategies with you.”

“If Brandon Stark wants a pact with us, he should come himself, not hide behind his wife’s skirts.,” Loras said, petulantly. 

“My uncle is fighting a war,” Jon said. “Not holding a tournament.”

Renly chuckled and stood. He left his wife upon the dias and went to Queen Catelyn. “Don't worry, my lady,” he said. “Our war is just beginning.”

—

Renly walked side by side with Jon’s aunt as he walked behind them with Lady Brienne. They came across a man with a horse and a bandaged leg. 

“Your grace,” the man said with a slight bow. 

“Gerard,” Renly said. “How's your foot?”

“Better, your grace.” He patted the horse. “They don't know their own size is all.”

“Good man,” Renly laughed. As they continued their walk, Renly spoke. “I have a hundred thousand men at my command. All the might of the Stormlands and the Reach.”

“And all of them young and bold like your Knight of Flowers?” Jon’s queen asked. “It's a game to you, isn't it? I pity them.”

“Why?” Renly asked, confused.

“Because it won't last. Because they are the knights of summer and winter is coming.” 

Jon smiled at his aunt’s words.

“Brienne, escort Lady Catelyn and her nephew to their tent,” Renly said. “They’re tired from their journey.”

“At once, your grace,” the woman said. “Shall I return after?”

“That won't be necessary,” the Baratheon man said. “I would pray awhile. Alone.”

When Renly left, Brienne came forward to lead Jon and his good mother towards their tent. “If you'll follow me, my lady, my lord.”

“You fought bravely today, Lady Brienne,” Jon’s ain’t said. 

“I fought for my king. Soon I'll fight for him on the battlefield. Die for him if I must. And, if it pleases you, Brienne's enough. I'm no lady.”

Jon saw a quiver of a smile on his aunt’s lips as they followed the lady knight to the tent. 

—

Jon dreamed of broken bread, spilled salt, and blood upon cold ground. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case people forgot that Cat’s a queen now! 🥰


	41. Celia VII

Although she had not spent much time around Jon when he was a babe, she could vaguely remember him looking as Neddie did. Her younger son had dark hair and greying blue eyes. He looked like Ned and Jon and Celia could not be more happy that her boys looked like Starks. 

Neddie made a face, his features scrunching up and Celia recognizes that as the accident face. She smiled. Arya has made the same exact face many times before and made it still on occasion. Celia kissed her son’s cheeks and lifted him up so she could change him. 

“Don’t be too upset, little lord,” she cooed as he began to wiggle uncomfortably. It was luckily not too much of a mess, but she could only imagine how uncomfortable he was in it. “Shall I tell you a story?” she asked, holding one of his small feet and waving it gently, causing him to giggle a little. “Once upon a time, there was a brave prince who needed to keep his princess safe from a dragon. However, the prince was noble and killing the dragon would separate him from his lady love forever. So, what was the prince to do? Charm her.”

—

Celia sat next to Rickon as her nephew listened to the complaints of the people. Maester Luwin sat on the boy’s other side as they shared council and did what they could to help the boy. 

It was a shame that Bran was gone, for it would be nice to have her more level-headed nephew with them. Bran, however, had already made his vows and could not come. He had sent a letter in his stead saying that the Night Watch member who had gone to King’s Landing had seen Ned briefly and thought her husband looked well, considering, but that was all that he could do. 

Rickon was the wildest of her sister’s children. He was more wild than Arya or even Minisa. 

However, it was obvious that he cared for the people deeply.

Rickon has such a big heart that he seemed to get frustrated when he could not help a person more. 

“You must understand, my lord,” Maester Luwin said. “We are at war and sometimes all we can do is help the smallfolk take less of the brunt of it.”

“I understand,” he said dully, although it was obvious that he did not. When they were in private, Celia pressed a motherly kiss to the boy’s brow and he hugged her tightly. “I miss Mother and Father.”

She stroked his hair gently. She hated how war made men of boys who should still be boys. 

—

“Aunt Celia!”

Her heart nearly stopped as she heard her niece shout for her and Celia left her sewing quickly to rush to Sansa. “What is it? Are you alright? Is it the baby? It’s too early!”

Sansa just laughed and took Celia’s hand in hers and pressed it to her rounded belly. It took one second and then, Celia felt a kick.

Even though she had experienced such things herself six times, it never ceased to amaze her. 

“It is most definitely a Stark,” Celia said with a smile. “Such a strong kick.”

Sansa grinned. “I can’t wait to meet them.”

Celia straightened and kissed her niece and good daughter on the brow. “It will be painful and magic afterwards, I assure you.”

Sansa smiled. “I’m sure they can’t wait to meet their grandmother as well.”

Celia gave out a mock sigh. “I have never felt so old.”

The two women laughed. 

—

It was the same dream. Over and over again she had the same dream. 

Ned was sitting next to her, just sitting. His body was close and warm and everything she knew him to he. She missed her husband in a way that lover might, but she missed him in so many more ways. She missed the way he breathed, the way he spoke, the feel of his warmth brushed against her skin as he moved beside her. She missed him. 

Then she would awake and feel the cold ebbing into the bed under the furs and she would reach out to the side she left for him still and longed for her husband to be returned to her. She longed for him to be at her side once more so all of this might be over. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m coming up with rules for a possible Celiaverse contest. Just know there will be 2–3 first place winners who will get a 3k Celiaverse fic of their choice. It might be expanded later on, but it would be a long one-shot. Then there would also be 2–3 second place winners who will get a 1k Celiaverse fic of their choice as well. They can either be screenshots of a verse or even scenes they desperately want to happen in a fic I’ve talked about or already posted.   
It would be split into 2-3 categories. There would be a fanart section that may be split into photo edits/moodboards and more traditional fanart or put together in one category with the second or theirs category (depending on the art one) being a writing one.   
You guys could send me things on Tumblr or post them on your own and tag me in them, if you don’t have a tumblr, my submissions is open for you guys to do so on that. Then, I would post all the pictures and fic pieces onto three separate posts on Ao3 and I would allow a vote to go on so YOU guys can choose as much as I can.   
Tell me what you think!


	42. Ned VII

“Who’s next?” the boy king asked. 

It was his birthday and he was holding a tourney instead of focusing his efforts on the war at hand and putting his money towards troops. Ned has no idea why he was there standing behind Joffrey except to show off that he was, in fact, not dead. 

He would rather be in the black cells than this. 

“Lothor Brune,” the announcer said. “A freerider now in the service of Lord Tyrion.”

If Ned remembered correctly, he was once in the service of Petyr Baelish. No loyalty whatsoever. He shouldn’t be surprised. 

“Ser Dontos the Red of House Hollard,” the announcer continued after the first competitor stepped up. However, none came forward. The announcer frowned and shouted the name. “Ser Dontos the Red of House Hollard!”

A rather wide man stumbled forward. “Here I am!” He walked down the stairs, clutching awkwardly at his helmet and weapon. “Here I am.” He then dropped his helmet. “Sorry, your grace.” He put said helmet on backwards before taking it off. “My deepest apologies,” he said as he put the helmet on correctly. 

“Are you drunk?” Joffrey asked, annoyed.

Ser Dontos took off his helmet again. “No,” he said. “Uh, no, your grace. I had… I had two cups of wine.”

Ned personally doubted it. 

“Two cups?” Joffrey apparently had the same doubts. “That’s not much at all.” The King gestured for some wine. “Please, have another cup.”

Ned narrowed his eyes. 

“Are you sure, your grace?” the knight asked. 

“Yes,” the boy said. “To celebrate my nameday. Have two, have as much as you like.”

The knight bowed. “I would be honored, your grace.”

Joffrey looked to his left. “Ser Meryn, help Ser Dontos celebrate my name day. See that he drinks his fill.”

Ser Meryn and two other kingsguard grabbed the drunk knight and brought him into a more open area for all to better see. Ser Dontos was forced on his knees, with one of the kingsguard keeping him down. Ser Meryn and the other kingsguard got a funnel and a barrel of wine. The loathsome knight forced the funnel into Ser Dontos’ mouth. The kingsguard with the barrel began to pour the wine down the funnel and the already drunk knight began to struggle. 

“I would not do that, your grace,” Ned said, not fearing who else might hear him. 

“What did you say?” Joffrey demanded, turning to look at Ned. “Did you say I can’t?”

“I said I would not do that,” Ned repeated. “It would be bad luck to kill a man on your nameday.” He knew full well that wasn’t a thing, but Celia had said something similar to him once when a man dared present his daughter to Ned on his nameday when the girls were younger. He’d wanted to murder the man for such an insult to his wife, but Celia had kissed his cheek and told him it would be bad luck to ease his slight temper. 

“What kind of stupid peasant's superstition—” Joffrey began. 

“Lord Stark is right,” the Hound said. “What a man sows on his name day, he reaps all year.”

Joffrey sighed. “Take him away,” he said. “I'll have him killed tomorrow, the fool.”

Ned grimaced as Ser Dontos was released and he fell to the ground, puking a mixture of blood and wine. 

“If he has brought you some entertainment, perhaps you should make him your jester, your grace,” Ned suggested. 

Joffrey laughed with glee. A child easily placated. “Did you hear that, Ser Dontos? From this day on, you’ll be my fool.”

“Thank you, your grace,” Ser Dontos bowed. “And you, my lord.”

Ned bowed his head in reply. 

—

“I can hear cries coming from outside,” Ned said as he saw Lord Varys come towards his cell. 

“Joffrey has ordered the death of any and all of King Robert’s bastards,” he said. “All the ones he could find, at least.”

Ned frowned. “It appears that the king has no idea how to garner the affection of his people.”

“It appears so, Lord Stark.”

“You once told me you are here for the people of the realm,” Ned said. “So, why do you serve this king?”

“I am doing what I can for the people, your grace.”

Ned frowned. “I suggest you don’t serve king who doesn’t allow the murder of innocent children and then silence the mourning mothers for their own political gain.”

Lord Varys grimaced. “Of course, my lord.”

—

_ Dear Brandon, _

_ I once again ask that you bend the knee to the king and unite against Stannis and Renly. I do not trust the younger Baratheon brothers much and have little faith in their abilities to be king of Westeros. Stannis holds little love from the people and Renly cares little for politics other than making people like him, making tough decisions that may get him some dislike from others save his brother is not his strong suit.  _

_ I advise, dear brother, to bend the knee to our rightful king, whom, I have no doubt, will have the North’s best interest at heart.  _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Ned _

While it might not be the right time yet, it might be wise for Jon’s identity to be revealed soon. 

—

“And my second youngest, Celia,” Lord Tully said, gesturing to the shortest of the three girls. 

Ned glances at the girl he had been exchanging letters with. She was five years younger than he was, which he knew because she had excitedly announced she was thirteen on her past nameday in one of her letters to him. 

His only frame of reference for what a girl is like was his sister, the few girls he interacted with in the Vale and his letters from the youngest Tully girl. She was smiling in a carefree way that Lyanna did, but she appeared to be more reserved than his sister. Her hair was a brighter red than her sisters, and she had her father’s nose and lips. She was pretty, but all of the Tully girls were pretty. 

Ned’s thoughts were broken by his older brother’s howling laughter and their father’s chuckling. 

“Ah, the girl who wrote to my Ned while he was in the Eyrie,” his father huffed out the end of his laugh. 

“Father,” Ned said, embarrassed. Brandon had been laughing that Ned had little experience with girls. Ned has stubbornly said he had been writing to Celia. Gods, he shouldn’t have mentioned them. 

He glanced at Celia and found her looking at him, her cheeks pink. Her eyes a brilliant blue. 

He glanced away and began to fumble in his pocket for the pouch he had there. “You mentioned in one of your letters that you had broken the wolf piece in your cyvasse set.,” he said, handing it to her awkwardly. He watched as she opened the pouch and took out a white stone wolf piece. “Thought you might like this.”

Celia beamed up at him. “Thank you!”

Ned’s lips twitched into a smile and he blushed. Brandon kept laughing and their father continued to chuckle. 

Ned opened his eyes. How was he to know that such a meeting would change his life forever. He closed his eyes again. It would be so sweet to be with her, his wife, his lover, his friend, once again.


	43. Sansa VIII

They received a letter from Joffrey Baratheon. The letter was addressed to Rickon and Sansa never felt so much rage towards a person she barely knew. However, such anger could never be abated considering what the man had done to their family. 

_ Lord Stark, _

“Prince Rickon,” Sansa corrected, stroking her brother’s hair. 

_ By order of your king, you are to bend the knee to me and I shall grant you the title of Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. Your father and brother are in open rebellion against the crown, but I shall not hold that against you, should you make the right choice.  _

_ Your king, _

_ Joffrey Baratheon, First of his Name _

“He’s truly mad,” Maester Luwin said, shaking his head. 

“He’s foolish to think that a wolf would betray one of its own,” Aunt Celia said, shaking her head. Our bonds are greater than most. You children are Stark and Tully both. We are a pack and a shoal. A lion has nothing but it’s pride. I doubt he could possibly understand such things.”

“What shall you say in your reply, Rickon?” Sansa asked. 

“Write to him and say that we know no king but the King in the North whose name is Stark,” Rickon announced. 

Sansa smiled. 

“Oh,” Rickon exclaimed. “And I shall sign it Prince Rickon too!”

Sansa’s smile brightened and she saw her aunt cover her mouth to keep from laughing happily. 

—

Once more, Sansa watched as Jojen Reed took the twins to their mysterious lessons. 

It was not that Sansa distrusted the Reed children, she simply didn’t know them. The twins seemed fascinated by the Reed boy and seemed enthralled with whatever lessons he was giving them. But they were so very secretive that Sansa felt a large bout of concern. 

She tried to follow them, but it was rather hard to do so when she was heavily pregnant and about to go on bed rest soon. 

“Princess.”

Sansa turned away from Jojen and her little cousins to see Meera Reed standing before her. “Yes?”

“I have had this made for you,” she said. The girl, who was just two years younger than Sansa, held out a dagger. 

Sansa took it carefully. “Why—”

“You’ll need it,” Meera said. “I don’t know why or when, but Jojen says you’ll need it, to protect her.”

“Her?”

“The little princess.”

Sansa frowned and put her free hand over her belly. “I don’t understand.”

“My brother isn’t always right, but I pray that he’s especially wrong about this.”

“I don’t even know how to properly use it,” Sansa reasoned. 

Meera smiled. “Stick them with the pointy end.”

—

As Sansa tried to get some sleep, which was a useless endeavor since the baby was apparently holding a ball in her belly, Sansa began to think on Jon. She stood up and began to pace, rubbing her belly, trying to calm it down. 

Sansa wanted Jon to return to her as swiftly as possible, but she knew that ward could never end quickly. However, everything was becoming bigger and bigger than ever before. 

What Sansa worried about the most, however, was if Jon would be forced to push his claim to the Iron Throne. She didn’t want that. She didn’t want any of it. 

She just wanted to retire to Harrenhal and raise their children with none the wiser. Yet, if their babe looked like the girl in her dreams… peace might not be possible for them. 

—

_ My dearest Sansa, _

_ I am writing to you because I believe we need to begin making counter measures for whatever this war may bring us.  _

_ If it comes down to it, we may need to reveal Jon’s parentage. If it comes to that, you need to be ready.  _

_ I know it was never your wish to be anything more than you are, sweetling, but we must all make sacrifices and I am sorry that you are going to be making one as well.  _

_ Your father _


	44. Jon VIII

“Lord Rivers.”

Jon turned and saw Margaery Tyrell walking towards him, all smiles and blushing like some of the girls at Harrenhal who thought to charm Lord Stark’s bastard. Or the women who thought to charm Jon’s father themselves. 

“Your grace,” he said with a slight nod. “It’s Stark now.”

She continued to smile, but Jon could see the slight force behind it. “Of course, my apologies.”

“Is there something you need, your grace?”

“Yes,” she said. “I was wondering how it is that you are not a prince if your new wife is a princess.”

“I’m a bastard born, your grace,” Jon said simply. “I would never presume to hold a title over my wife.”

The Tyrell girl’s smile turned more at ease. “Even so, your uncle is not the true king, Renly is.”

“Many would tell you Stannis or even Joffrey were. However, the North has chosen my uncle. My uncle, who has two male heirs and one female heir.” He paused. “May I give you advice, your grace?”

She blinked. “I suppose. I could always choose to ignore it.”

“Your husband’s preferences…” The woman’s expression froze. “Make sure his heir is his own child and make sure he has one. For your men, the ones loyal to the Baratheons, will just abandon you for Stannis if you provide no heir.” Jon bowed his head and left to join his aunt. 

—

Jon sat on his horse next to his aunt’s. They were with King Renly, Loras Tyrell and Lady Brienne of Tarth. They had rode along the cliff side where they met with King Stannis Baratheon. The man was stern and looked nothing like King Robert. Next to him was an older man that Jon recognized based on his appearance. His mother had spoken kindly of Davos Seaworth, the man who had rescued her from King’s Landing. On the other side of Stannis was a woman with abnormally red hair and garbed in all red as well. 

“Lady Stark,” Stannis said and Jon stiffened. “I had not thought to find you in the Stormlands.”

“I had not thought to be here,  _ Lord  _ Stannis,” his aunt replied and Jon grinned. 

“Can that truly be you?” Renly interrupted. 

Jon found the younger Baratheon man’s need to be the center of attention a slight annoyance. It reminded him of Minisa when the twins were born. She had acted so childishly when she thought that no one was paying her enough attention. 

“Who else might it be?” Stannis asked. 

“When I saw your standard, I couldn't be sure. Whose banner is that?” Renly continued. 

“My own.”

“I suppose if we used the same one, the battle would be terribly confusing. Why is your stag on fire?”

Jon narrowed his eyes and indeed saw that Stannis’ stags were on fire. Seven Hells?

“The king has taken for his sigil the fiery heart of the Lord of Light,” the red woman said, her voice as smooth as silk but there was a slight Twitter of a snake’s rattle. 

“Ah,” Renly said. “You must be this fire priestess we hear so much about. Mmm, brother, now I understand why you found religion in your old age.”

“Watch yourself, Renly,” the older man warned. 

“No, no, I'm relieved,” Renly said with his charming smile. “I never really believed you were a fanatic. Charmless, rigid, a bore, yes, but not a godly man.”

“You should kneel before your brother,” the red woman said. “He's the Lord's chosen, born amidst salt and smoke.”

“Born amidst salt and smoke?” Renly laughed. “Is he a ham?”

“That's twice I've warned you,” Stannis growled. 

“Listen to yourselves,” Jon’s aunt said. “If you were sons of mine, I would knock your heads together and lock you in a bedchamber until you remembered that you were brothers.”

“It is strange to find you beside my brother, Lady Stark,” Stannis said. “Your good brother was a supporter of my claim. Lord Eddard's integrity cost him his freedom. And you sit beside this pretender and chastise me.”

“I have not seen you make any effort to rescue him,” the Stark queen said. “No, you fled in the night leaving him behind. Left him so that my sister might have her child without him. A boy who has not even heard his father’s voice.” She shook her head. “We share a common enemy. Might we not focus on that before we decide who might be a rightful ruler of the realm!?”

“The Iron Throne is mine by right. All those that deny that are my foes.”

Gods above. Jon had to hold his tongue. He was related to these men. He could hardly imagine them welcoming him at all in this state. He wondered what chaos would ensue between the Baratheon brothers. Robert got the throne because he won the rebellion, but also because of his Targaryen grandmother. He sighed. 

“The whole realm denies it, from Dorne to the Wall,” Renly stated. “Old men deny it with their death rattle and unborn children deny it in their mother's wombs. No one wants you for their king. You never wanted any friends, brother. But a man without friends is a man without power.”

“For the sake of the mother who bore us, I will give you this one night to reconsider. Strike your banners, come to me before dawn, and I will grant you your old seat in the Council. I'll even name you my heir until a son is born to me. Otherwise I shall destroy you.”

Jon doubted that Stannis would be given a son. All knew his wedding bed was cursed and only one daughter had been given to him. The offer was reasonable. Renly would become the crown prince instead of being king, but Renly was so much younger than Stannis that it would not take too long. 

“Look across those fields, brother,” Renly said. “Can you see all those banners?”

“You think a few bolts of cloth will make you king?” Stannis asked. 

“No,” Renly said, shaking his head. “The men holding those bolts of cloth will make me king.”

“We shall see, Renly,” Stannis said. Come the dawn, we shall see.”

“Look to your sins, Lord Renly,” the red woman said. “The night is dark and full of terrors.”

Jon narrowed his eyes. That almost sounded like something a Northman living closer to the Wall might say. 

—

The wind began to howl and a dark cloud that looked almost like mist raced across the floor of the tent as it began to take the form of a man, rising up behind Renly. Jon gasped as the spirit seemed to stab Renly in the back, through the heart. The Baratheon man gasped and the most began to hiss. 

“No!” Lady Brienne screamed, her cry a shattering heartbreak that ripped at Jon’s chest. The spirit disappeared and Brienne caught the collapsing Renly and lowered him to the ground gently. Two of the guards outside stormed into the room, swords drawn. 

“Follow me,” the first said as he took in the scene. 

Both men eyed Brienne in anger. 

“You’ll die for this,” the second growled. 

“No, wait!” Aunt Catelyn shouted. 

“It wasn’t her!” Jon said, pulling his sword. 

The soldiers pushed past his aunt and it did not take long for him and the lady knight to dispatch the soldiers. After the two men were dead, Lady Brienne fell to her knees and began to sob. 

His aunt came beside the woman to comfort him. “We have to leave,” she said. “They’ll hand you for this.”

Shouts came from the outside. 

“I won't leave him,” the lady said.”

“You can’t avenge him if you’re dead.”

More shouts came and the lady knight stood. “This way.”

A tapestry was pulled aside and the three escaped. 

—

They stopped to let their horses stink from a stream. None of them had talked at all on their flight from Renly’s camp, but Jon felt his heart pound nonetheless. 

“It looked like Stannis,” Brienne said at last. 

“It was a shadow,” Aunt Catelyn replied. 

“Shaped like a man,” Jon conceded. 

“Shaped like Stannis,” Brienne urged. 

“We should reach my husband’s camp tomorrow,” his aunt said. 

“Will you stay there long, your grace?

“Only long enough to tell Brandon what I have seen. After that, I will leave for Winterfell. My younger children and my sister and her own need me. I've been away from them for far too long.”

“I never knew my mother,” the knight said. 

“I’m sorry,” Aunt Catelyn said. 

Many would say that Jon never knew his mother either. Yet… Lady Celia was the only woman to come to mind when he thought of his mother. 

“I’m sorry,” his aunt said. Jon led her to the fire and helped her sit. Lady Brienne followed them. “My own mother died on the birthing bed when I was very young. My youngest sister barely remembers her. In a way, I was more a mother to her than our own was. I was told my sister nearly did not make it on the last babe she had.”

“It's a bloody business,” Brienne said. 

“What comes after is even harder,” his aunt said. “But it is more rewarding.”

“Once you're safely back amongst your own people,” Lady Brienne said. “Will you give me leave to go, my lady?”

“You mean to kill Stannis?” Jon asked. 

“I swore a vow,” the lady said. 

“But Stannis has a great army around him,” Jon said. “His own guards are sworn to keep him safe.”

“I'm as good as any of them,” Brienne said. “I should never have fled.”

“Renly's death was no fault of yours,” Jon’s aunt said. “You served him bravely.”

“I only held him that once as he was dying,” Brienne said softly. 

Jon’s aunt stood and faced Brienne. “He's gone, Brienne. You serve nothing and no one by following him into the earth. Renly's enemies are Brandon’s enemies as well.”

“I do not know your husband, your grace. But I could serve you, if you would have me. You have courage. Not battle courage, perhaps, but, I don't know, a woman's kind of courage. And I think that when the time comes, you will not hold me back. Promise me that you will not hold me back from Stannis.”

Jon watched the two women carefully. 

“When the time comes,” his aunt said. “I will not hold you back.”

Lady Brienne drew her sword and laid it at Queen Catelyn’s feet. “Then I am yours, your grace. I will shield your back and give my life for yours, if it comes to that. I swear it by the Old Gods and the new.”

Jon’s aunt stood tall. “Ivow that you shall always have a place in my home and at my table and that I shall ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. I swear it by the Old Gods and the new.”


	45. Arya VIII

Even though Gendry said he could not be her family, not in the way she wanted, Arya still wanted to try. 

She wondered, perhaps, if it was because of how she was. Jon had always joked that she occasionally acted like a boy in a girl’s body. While he had not meant it in a mean way, the idea took root now and she wondered if Gendry preferred girls who acted like Sansa or Arya’s mother. 

She began to take more care in her appearance, combing her hair out until it shined like her mother used to. She cinched in the waist of her dress with apron strings to show off her curves, rather proud of her figure. She washed her face when she could and pinched her cheeks before she spoke with Gendry. Although pinching her cheeks was an annoyance, she remembered her mother doing it whenever her father returned from a hunting party. 

Arya wasn’t sure if her plan was working, however, she found that Gendry glances at her more often. As did a few men that she passed whenever they stopped next in a village. She didn’t care much for them, but whenever Gendry looked, she would smile at him as sweetly as Sansa would smile at Jon. She could have sworn she saw a blush upon his cheeks and Arya could only take that as a sort of triumph. 

—

The inn they were at had a small mirror and Arya decided she might try braiding her hair as her mother used to. 

Arya could remember laying on her parents’ bed and watched as her mother readied for the day, brushing and braiding her hair so beautifully. More beautiful than anything she had seen the queen styled in. Her mother mixed a Northern and Southron style, but it was so pretty.

Her mother would then braid Arya’s hair into a more simplistic style, but more so because Arya was not married and she did not want the braids to be caught in anything and hurt her whenever Arya went out playing. 

She spent a good half hour, it felt, to attempt to get her braids right. However, nothing she did seemed to work. Her fingers were not as nimble as her mother’s. Nothing she did seemed to work. Frustration began to mount in her belly, twisting and bubbling until tears began to catch on her lashes. 

Arya buried her face in her hands and began to cry. She missed her mother. She just wanted to go home. 

Gendry entered their room and froze for a moment before he came up behind her and hugged her tightly. 

—

As she and Gendry laid in bed together, both remained quiet but did not sleep. 

“Why’ve you been changing?” Gendry asked.

Arya glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been acting strange since the… you know. Why?”

“Can’t I care about my appearance?” she asked. “You’ve only known me when we were on the run. Perhaps this is how I usually am,” she lied. 

“I doubt it. Unless you had a maid doing your braids, I doubt you did this usually.”

Arya huffed. 

“I like the way you are just fine,” Gendry said gently. “You don’t have to change.”

“Perhaps I want to,” Arya countered. 

“If it’s because you want to, fine. But if it’s because of me, stop it. You’re fine just the way you are and I doubt your parents would be happy to see you change yourself so drastically for me anyway.”

“Do you not think yourself worth it?”

“I think yourself above it, is all.” Arya glanced at him and found his ears red. “Goodnight.”

—

It was a day later that the goldcloaks came upon them. 

“I am Ser Amory Lorch,” the knight on the horse stated. “I am under the employ of Lord Tywin Lannister and seek out a boy named Gendry. He would have a bull helmet on him.”

Arya trembled, surprised that they were not looking for her, but also worried for Gendry. She reached out and took his hand and he squeezed it gently before letting go. 

“This helmet?” he asked, stepping forward and holding it up.

“Get him,” the knight ordered. 

“Wait, good ser,” Gendry said. “I’m afraid that I don’t know the Gendry you’re looking for, I traded a knife for this helmet with a boy heading towards Harrenhal with his sister. I’m heading further into the Riverlands to help my brother’s family after he was killed in the Battle of the Whispering Woods. I thought of selling it to a soldier for more coin than my old dagger. The boy seemed awfully happy to be rid of it.”

“Do you speak truly, boy?” 

“Aye,” he replied. “The name’s Lommy Fleetfoot. My wife Alys and I are trying to make it to my brother’s family sooner rather than later. She’ll be showing soon and I want her closer to family.”

Arya placed her hand over her belly and rubbed it as she recalled her mother often doing, but puffed her stomach out as much as she was able.”

“Where did you say the boy and his  _ sister  _ were heading?” the knight asked. 

“Harrenhal, Ser. He seemed to be in quite the hurry.”

The knight tossed Gendry a small bag of coins and ordered another soldier to take the helmet. “For your service to the king.”

When the knights marched and rose away, Arya breathed a sigh of relief. 


	46. Ned VIII

Ned heard a rumor floating between the guards outside his cell that there were plans for Princess Myrcella to marry one of the Martell princes. While politically that would be an intelligent move, Ned doubted that such a match would officially be made.

Cersei would never allow it. She was a mother similar to Celia or Cat and wouldn’t care for the idea of their child being so far away at such a young age.

He doubted that Lord Tywin would allow such a betrothal either. When the previous Princess of Dorne had come to barter two betrothals, one between Cersei and Prince Oberyn and one between Ser Jaime and Princess Elia, the Old Lion had refused. 

Ned wondered what would have happened had Lord Tywin allowed the marriage between Ser Jaime and the princess. She would not have married Prince Rhaegar. He could not figure how everything would have panned out, but it would have been much better than how it eventually did. Although, he could not be for certain how much better it might be. 

So, with all that in mind, he doubted that Myrcella would be sent to Dorne, no matter how smart it was politically. 

—

The boys king had a crossbow aimed at Ned. The older man stood subservient, but he did not kneel. 

“You’re here to answer for your brother’s latest treasons,” the boy announced. 

“As I have been your humble guest in the Black Cells, your grace, I have had no part in my brother’s actions,” Ned said calmly. 

“Ser Lancel,” the boy ordered. “Tell him of this outrage.”

“Using some vile sorcery,” the Lannister cousin announced. “Your brother fell on Stafford Lannister with an army of wolves. Thousands of good men were butchered. After the slaughter, the Northmen feasted on the flesh of the slain.

“Killing you would send your brother a message,” Joffrey said looking down his crossbow at Ned. 

“My family believing you killed me is what started this rebellion,” Ned countered. “Besides, if I am dead, then I doubt you will get Ser Jaime back.”

Joffrey sneered. “Mother insists on keeping you alive. So, we’ll have to send your brother a message some other way. Meryn.”

Ned has tussled with Robert plenty of times in his youth. He had with Ned and Brandon and evening on one occasion Lyanna when they were small children. Ned gritted his teeth as he was hit with a sword and a whip. He fell to the ground but refused to make a noise. 

“If you want Brandon Stark to hear us,” Joffrey said with glee. “We’re going to have to speak louder.”

“What is the meaning of this?” Lord Tyrion said, coming into the throne room. “What kind of knight bears a helpless man while he is already down?”

“The kind of man who serves his king, Imp,” Ser Meryn said. 

Tyrion ignored the knight. “Do you wish for the Starks to beat your uncle Jaime? I can guarantee Lord Brandon Stark is more apt at a blade than any who stand before me.” Lord Tyrion turned. “Take Lord Stark to one of the guest rooms. He is to be moved. We don’t need our  _ only  _ political prisoner to die of an infection.”

—

Ned has been taken to a small room with little space and no windows. He was half convinced he had been given a broom closet. This meant, however, that it would most likely be difficult for Lord Varys to contact him. 

At least he had a decent bed to sleep in. 

He had, however, insisted that he take care of his own wounds rather than letting the maester in the Lannister’s pocket look at him. Ned has tended to his own wounds before, during Rovert’s Rebellion as well as the Greyjoy one. There were still quite a few faint scars along his chest and back from battle. 

He could recall Celia’s lips sliding against the puckered skin after he came back from the fight against the Greyjoy’s. She had kissed, what felt, like every inch of him. The thought only made him miss her more. So much more. 

—

Ned dreamed of a girl with silver hair and eyes as blue as the sky. She reached for him, her hands opening and closing to him as she stood in place. 

“Grandpa?”

He awoke with a start. Worry twisted in his consciousness and he wasn’t sure why he was so very frightened. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now Ned is dreaming of her too!
> 
> Also, after Saturday, I’m taking one week off from writing because my supervisor scheduled me for too many hours next week and I’m going to be utterly exhausted. I might change up the writing schedule for my fics since I’ve been under too much stress lately (I work at a grocery store). Thank you for understanding!


	47. Celia VIII

_ Dearest Celia, _

_ I hope to come to you soon, but we shall see where Brandon thinks I would be more useful, although I pray it will be with you and the children. If I am unable to be with Sansa for her birth, support her as I know you would anyway.  _

_ I plan on sending Jon to Lysa in hopes to get support from the Vale. They could be a turning point in this war.  _

_ Pray to all the gods that we might succeed.  _

_ Yours, _

_ Cat _

—

Celia rocked her son tenderly in her arms.

She grew more worried by the day. She didn’t trust the Lannisters, not one bit. This was a game none of them had ever really played before. What if—

Neddie began to cry and Celia’s thoughts were interrupted. “Shhhh,” she whispered, peppering her son’s face with kisses. “It’s okay, sweet boy. It’s okay.”

She prayed that she was right. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m super sorry this is the last chapter before my week break, I worked 10 hours yesterday and am utterly exhausted. I’m bruised all over. 
> 
> I’ll take prompts throughout the week to give a bit of entertainment.


	48. Theon II

Theon looked over the map of Westeros with his father and Asha. Like everything else in the keep, it seemed to be molting. He wished they would put off such things, but his family had no care for waiting or patience. It was why they had failed in their rebellion and why they had been in a terrible state ever since. 

_ The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives _ . Lord Starks words thrummed in Theon’s ears. The Greyjoys were no pack. They were a collection of lone wolves who sought glory for themselves. They had no allies, even within their own families. Nothing like the Starks. Nothing like Winterfell. Nothing like his true home. 

He had tried to go see his mother, tried to see her as a last effort to reconnect with his family, but she did not recognize him. Did nothing but cling to him when he said his name, asking where her baby boy was. His heart broke for the woman, broke for what his father had allowed her to become. If he had been a less selfish boy, he would have written to her, would have told her of the beauty of Winterfell. 

He had kissed her cheek and promised to come back for her, to bring her to a land where water became ice and fell to the ground, covering it like spilled flour and sugar. 

Theon shook his head from his thoughts as his father spoke. 

“The wolf lord has gone south with the entirety of the Northern army at his back,” he said. “While he's tangling with the lion in the Westerlands, the North is ripe for the taking. The Ironborn will reave and pillage, as it was in the old days, all along the northern coast. We'll spread our dominion across the green lands, securing the Neck and everything above. Every stronghold will yield to us, one by one. Winterfell may defy us for a year, but what of it? The rest shall be ours, forest, field, and hall.”

Theon did not bother to look up at his father, fearing he would scoff. The Ironborn would not be ready for winter. They would freeze in their armor within a year. And whoever had told his father that the North was green had clearly not actually been North. 

“Asha, my daughter, you’ll take thirty longships to attack Deepwood Motte.”

“I've always wanted a castle,” Asha said. 

In another life, Theon could imagine Arya and Asha becoming great friends, they were similar in personality, although Arya had a more empathetic nature that would be a great help to her one day. As far as Theon knew, his sister didn’t have an empathetic bone in her body. 

“And what’s my role in all this?” Theon asked. 

“You’ll take a ship to raid the fishing villages on the Stoney Shore,” Lord Balon said. 

“A ship? You give her thirty and I get one?”

“The Sea Bitch,” Asha smirked. “We thought she’d be perfect for you.”

“I’m to fight fishermen? You ask me to fight smallfolk?”

“Be careful of their nets,” Asha said, looking like the cat who got the cream. 

Theon ignored her and went to Lord Balon. “Father, I fought with Brandon Stark. I know his men. He won't give up the North so easily.”

“They won’t even know we’re there until it’s too late.”

“Do you know of any Northmen, Asha? Do you know what blood runs through their veins? It took a dragon to bring them to heel. There are no roaring seas next to Winterfell. We would be on land fighting on their own territory. Unlike you, Asha, I have actually battled on land. I am a proven warrior.”

“Your brothers were warriors, both of them dead at the hands of those you seem so eager to protect,” the head of House Greyjoy said. 

“I'm not protecting anyone,” Theon said. His necklace felt like it burned as he lied. “I just wonder if it's not wiser to wait. Why risk going against the North if they would be our allies? Rise up against them and they could destroy us. But if we pledge fealty to them, they'll give us Casterly Rock.”

“What are our words?” his father asked. “Our words?”

“We do not sow,” Theon repeated, memories of his brothers telling him so as they piled atop of him, laughing as he shouted about how heavy they were. 

“We do not sow. We are Ironborn. We're not subjects. We're not slaves. We do not plow the fields or toil in the mine. We take what is ours. Your time with the wolves has made you weak.”

Theon’s lips curved into a snarl. “You act as if I volunteered to go. You gave me away, if you remember. The day you bent the knee to Robert Baratheon. After he crushed you. Did you take what was yours then? Did you even fight for me or was your pride so wounded that you cared not about me? I was but a child then, but did you even care to ask how I was?” Theon barely flinched when his father’s hand smacked his cheek. Lord Balon turned and began to exit the room. “You gave me away!” That caused his father to stop. “Your boy! Your last boy! You gave me away like I was some dog you didn't want anymore. And now you curse me because I've come home. Curse me for trying to return us to our former glory. Do you know why we are so hated? Even the Lannisters care more for their own family than you do!”

His father left and Asha went to him, growling. “You'd have our father bow down to your other family?”

“It is not bowing. It is making alliances. King Brandon would not have the Iron Islands under his crown. He would have our father a king as well. Have you not wondered why we lost so horribly, dear sister? It is because we had no allies while Robert Baratheon had them in spades.”

—

Theon stood before his Uncle Aeron. The man was nothing how Theon remembered him. His uncle had been the kindest of his family. He had always been laughing and jovial. He had been someone that Theon had looked up to and cared for deeply. But that was not the man who stood before him now as they stood ankle deep in water as Theon’s father and sister looked on. 

He was unkempt and sullen. He was not the man Theon remembered. 

“Theon of the House Greyjoy,” his uncle began. “You would, this day, consecrate your faith to the Drowned God?”

Theon looked over at Lord Balon before turning his eyes to his uncle. 

_ Theon Starkjoy _ , he heard little Alarra’s voice say earnestly. He was no squid. He was a sea wolf who followed the Old Way and knelt before trees to hear the gods whisper in the wind. 

“I would,” he replied anyway. 

“Kneel.” Theon did as he was told, but felt nothing, it was so unlike the godswood that seemed to bring a quiet introspection. “Let Theon, your servant, be born again from the sea as you were. Bless him with salt. Bless him with stone. Bless him with steel.”

His uncle poured water over his head at every blessing. 

“What is dead may never die,” Theon said. 

“What is dead may never die. But rises again harder and stronger. Stand.”

Theon stood. 

Theon Starkjoy. That was who he was and always would be. 

—

As he rested in his cabin within the Sea Bitch, Theon thought of the Starks. Sansa should have had her baby by then, or at least be nearing the time when birth was inevitable. 

He wondered if it would be a boy. Theon Stark. He supposed it would be inevitable that Theon would be his favorite uncle then, although Theon would still love the child dearly if it were a girl. 

Lady Celia had her new son as well. 

They were alone and basically unprotected. Them and the children. 

He couldn’t let them be hurt. 

—

When they touched land and eventually began to make their way for Winterfell, Theon left the Ironborn in the dead of night, heading for Winterfell alone. It was inevitable that they would be overtaken. He had seen the men on his ship fight and they were ruthless. Rickon was a child and there were babes besides. He needed to get to Winterfell quickly and get them all out. 

It would either be further north to Bran at the Wall or south to the Vale where Lady Stark and Lady Celia’s sister resided. 

It mattered not where he took them if he could not get there first. He had to go. He had to go quickly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theon Starkjoy has arrived!
> 
> The Celiaverse contest is now open! Find the rules [HERE](https://fromtheboundlesssea.tumblr.com/post/615380999853981696/i-have-finally-come-out-with-the-rules-for-the) ! We have a couple entries already! 
> 
> I also have a new posting schedule [HERE](https://fromtheboundlesssea.tumblr.com/post/615754777656197120/okay-new-release-schedule-for-the)


	49. Alarra and Alys II

Winterfell was on fire. 

A direwolf with wet fur and the scent of salt was running and a kraken spread its tentacles across the land, turning the ground to ash as a horn blew. 

Blood spilled on the floor as Northmen screamed as their skin was pulled apart. 

Three dragons circled the skies and roared as they began to dance in the air, twisting and going at each other’s throats. 

_ Queen in the North!  _ came a rousing cry.  _ Queen in the North! _

Sansa sat upon a solid oak seat, a crown of bronze with longswords and a wolf head sat upon her own, her eyes calm and cool as Jon stood beside her. 

_ Queen in the North!  _ the cry continued.  _ Queen in the North! _

A young woman with silver hair and blue eyes sat in Sansa’s place. A queen of ice and fire. A peaceful smile upon her lips. 

The song had finally ended. 

—

“It’s time to wake up, my ladies,” came a hushed voice. 

Alarra and Alys opened their eyes to find Jojen standing over them. Echo grumbled but was still alert. 

“Where are we going?” Alarra asked. 

“To the raven?” Alys added. 

“We go North,” Jojen said. “We need to go find Bran and Summer.”

“Winter is coming,” Alarra said. 

“A dream of Spring,” Alys added. 

“Let’s go,” Jojen helped the girls and they slipped on traveling dresses before going with Jojen, Meera waiting outside for them. 

“What are you doing?” They turned and found Minisa glaring at them. 

“We need to go,” Meera said. “The twins need to get to Bran Stark.”

“I’m telling Mother,” their older sister said. 

“No,” Alys said. 

“Don’t go,” Alarra repeated. “No water.”

“This is important,” Jojen said. “The girls need to come with us. The fate of all we know resides upon it.”

Minisa pursed her lips. “Then I’m coming too. Mother says it’s my job to look after them.”

—

Alarra could sense her mother crying. Her chest hurt and she wanted her mother. She wanted her mother to know they would be okay. They would protect Minisa so she would be fine. Everything would be okay. 

“I want home.” She wanted the summer halls of Harrenhal. She wanted her mother’s garden. She wanted Jon to tell them stories. She wanted the Raven to go away. 

“Not yet,” Alys said. “Need Bran. We need Bran.”

A raven cawed and Alys knew they would not return home for many years. 

—

They saw Theon helping pack a small coach as Sansa held her newborn daughter and their mother held Eddie. Lyarra sat between the two, her face buried in their mother’s shoulder. Lady, Shadow and Jenny were curled at their feet as Theon shouted at the smallfolk to flee to another keep. 

The krakens were coming. Alarra could sense them. 

Alys could see their tentacles slip over the skin of a flayed man as the Rains of Castamere played.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Boltons aren’t just working with the Lannisters.


	50. Jon IX

_ Dearest Jon, _

_ Three nights before this letter was sent, our daughter, Serena Stark, came into the world with a giggle. I know my father said the same of me, but I always thought he was lying. Yes, my love, you may tell him that I said such things.  _

_ Serena looked as she did in our dreams and I worry for her. Maester Luwin has been sworn to secrecy and I have not allowed a nurse to feed her. She stays bundled and her head remains covered.  _

_ She is so beautiful, Jon. She’s perfect and just… I cannot even describe it. Aunt Celia says she felt the same for all of her children and I know my mother felt the same for all of us, but I cannot imagine loving anyone more than I love her. She’s utterly perfect and I shall cherish her always.  _

_ Please return to me as soon as you are able. My love, I miss you so much and I know Serena wishes to meet her father.  _

_ Be safe and know that you remain, as ever, in my prayers.  _

_ Love always, _

_ Sansa _

—

Another letter was given to them as soon as they arrived in the camp and Jon’s aunt grew pale as she read it before handing it to Jon. 

“It was sent weeks ago, not long after Serena was born,” she said. 

Jon looked over the content and felt his stomach drop. 

_ King Brandon, _

_ My attempt at bringing the Ironborn into the fold failed and I was unable to write until this moment due to the close watch my family had on me during my stay in the Iron Islands.  _

_ My family has plans to go against the Lannisters, but not working alongside you or one of the Baratheon brothers. My sister is to pillage the Westerlands and I beg that you and the Stark and Tully men be careful.  _

_ They had me sail them North and asked me to take Winterfell. I had plans to abandon them before the siege and help the remaining Stark men to fight. However, when we reached land, I learned that my Uncle Euron was on the ship, remaining hidden and the true captain in charge. _

_ Although there had been rumors that my father sent him away, I now think these may be false and generated so my uncle could leave Westeros with little thought and claim more for the Iron Islands and House Greyjoy. I believe that they may have more forces than we initially thought.  _

_ My uncle, as do most of my family, have a great dislike for the Starks, but my uncle has a personal debt to Lord Eddard for defeating him in battle during the Rebellion that led to my wardship. My uncle’s reputation strikes fear into my heart for Lady Celia, Sansa, and the children, especially the girls.  _

_ I am sending this letter to you now so that you know that I am taking them to our free flying friends in the South where I hope to also request further aid. I have also ordered the smallfolk to scatter and a few Stark men have chosen to remain behind to keep some things in order.  _

_ I regret to say that, before we could leave, the Reed children disappeared in the middle of the night with Minisa, Alarra and Alys. While Minisa’s wolf is with us, Echo has disappeared as well. We found nothing of them but found a drawing of what looks like a crow and believe they have gone North to Bran.  _

_ I apologize for not being able to return to you, but I must get the others to safety and hope that I am able to get our flying friends to rally behind your call to arms.  _

_ Your son, _

_ Theon _

Jon felt sick to his stomach. His family were possibly fleeing in other directions and Winterfell might have been ransacked by then. His wife and newborn daughter were traveling in hazardous conditions and he had no idea where they were, and only knew of their destination. He crumble the letter in his hands as he fought back tears. 

—

When Jon and his aunt returned to the inner part of his uncle’s camp with his aunt and Lady Brienne, he had expected to hear news of more victory or of some kind of progress. He even thought, perhaps, he might learn which Frey girl his cousin would marry. 

What he hadn’t expected, however, was for his cousin to be married already to a girl from the Westerlands. 

Jeyne Westerling, or Stark now, was pretty and appeared shy from when she was introduced to Jon and his aunt, her new good mother. Although he was not standing close to Queen Catelyn, he could sense her stiffen upon the introduction. 

The Stark matriarch kept her face calm and greeted the girl gently, although not completely friendly. 

“I have much to discuss with my husband, nephews and son,” Jon’s aunt said, her chin raised. “Could you please give us a moment, Jeyne.”

The girl was slightly flustered, but nodded regardless, leaving them a moment alone. Jon winced as he watched his aunt turn to his uncle. 

“How did this happen?”

“He married her in a godswood and with a septon. There was nothing I could do.”

“Are you mad, Robb?” Jon asked. “How in the Seven Hells could you do this?”

“I needed to make it right!” Robb said. “I need not explain it to you, I shouldn’t have to. In a moment of weakness I took her to my bed and I needed to make it right. Like Uncle Ne—”

“Don’t you dare bring my father into this,” Jon shouted. He knew Robb didn’t know the full truth, but even so. “He wasn’t betrothed to your aunt, or anyone for that matter, when I was born. You’ve broken your word with the Freys.” Then a thought came to him. “Is that why they aren’t here?”

Uncle Brandon sighed.

“That is a lot of our forces!” Jon asked. “I know you want to think of that girl’s honor, but you have just put the honor of House Stark into question as well at a time where my sister and my wife and daughter need us to be in unity!”

Jon pinched the bridge of his nose trying to reign in his anger, but found he could not. “Excuse me, I need to wack something with my sword and I would rather it not be the crown prince.”

He stormed off, his heart beating wildly in his chest. 

—

Jaime Lannister has attempted to escape, but had been brought back just as easily as he had been caught. 

“Come to say goodbye, Lord Rivers?” he asked as Jon entered the cage. “Or should I call you Sand? I’m not sure. I believe it is my last night in the world.”

“Do you hear the men out there?” Jon asked. “They want your head.”

“Old Lord Karstark doesn’t seem to like me,” the Kingslayer said in a bored tone. 

“You strangled his son with your chains.”

“Oh,” he said in little interest. “Was he the one on guard duty? He was in my way. Any knight would have done the same.”

“You are no knight,” Jon said. “You’ve forsaken every vow you ever took.”

The Lannister man tilted his head to study Jon for a moment. “Are you taking your anger for your cousin out on me or have you decided to speak for the dead siblings I could not protect.”

He scoffed. “So many vows.” Ser Jaime shook his head. “They make you swear and swear. Defend the king, obey the king, obey your father, protect the innocent, defend the weak. But what if your father despises the king? What if the king massacres the innocent? It's too much. No matter what you do, you're forsaking one vow or another. I am more honorable than the man who claimed you as his son.”

“He is a truer knight than you and he is not even a knight, Kingslayer,” Jon snarled. 

“Kingslayer,” Ser Jaime sneered. “What a king he was. Here's to Aerys Targaryen, the Second of His Name, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, and to the sword I shoved in his back.”

“You are without honor and you could not even protect what you should have and followed men who murdered children.” Robb had broken a vow, just as Jon’s Targaryen broke a vow. Children have been put in danger for less. 

“I’ve never been with any woman but Cersei,” Ser Jaime said. “So, in my own way, I have more honor than your father and, unlike your father, I do what I do to protect my children. What did your father do but leave a green boy alone with a mad king who hated Princess Elia and her children and used them as hostages so Dorne would fall in line.”

Jon’s hand tightened into a fist. 

“And now your wife and child are on the run too. Just like your aunt and uncle across the sea. Looks like Targaryen men have a hard time protecting their children.”

Jon saw red and his fist slammed into Ser Jaime’s face. He turned abruptly and stormed out, looking at his aunt and Lady Brienne, do as you will,” he growled before storming off, once again, to blow off steam. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, can you believe this is 50 chapters now! I can’t! 🥳🥳🥳
> 
> And the first bit was backtracked a bit because, but the second part is now caught up. Euron is the reason that the Ironborn aimed for Winterfell. I’ve changed the backstory for him a bit, but there we go. 
> 
> Robb made the same mistake as before. And we have Jeyne this time around. She’s going to actually have a plot in this! You’ll see. 
> 
> And Jaime sipping some anti-Rhaegar tea, but still gets a punch to the face, because, let’s be honest, pre-Brienne Jaime was a prick


	51. Arya IX

Arya and Gendry had stopped at yet another town, getting closer and closer to the Riverlands with every passing day. While Arya wished to go more quickly, she and Gendry knew that the goldcloaks coming out so far from the King’s Road was not a situation in their favor. They needed to be careful, move a little less, take a path a little less direct. They needed to be careful. 

Regardless, they were at least making a little more money at the forges in some areas. Their smiths had gone out to war and things still needed to be repaired regardless of what house was fighting who. 

Arya had gotten a little more skilled at mending clothes too. Although, she still prefered the sword Jon had given her. Gendry thought it best she actually wore it instead of him now. She was still a girl and she needed to be seen as enough of a threat that none would bother her. 

She was returning to the inn she and Gendry were staying at when she came across a couple of boys close to her age, if not younger, harassing a strange liking man on the ground. They were throwing rocks and laughing. Arya narrowed her eyes. The man they were attacking… she sensed something dangerous about him. Although she had never met one of the larger cats, she thought, perhaps, they were much like normal cats. They could appear docile and unthreatening, but once they were done taking whatever treatment was being dealt out, an eye or two could be scratched out. 

“Leave him alone,” Arya demanded. 

“Be on your way,” one of the boys said. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“And how does it concern him? Has he done something that gives you the right to mistreat him so?”

“Look at him,” the other said, pointing to the man’s white and red hair. 

“If being weird looking was a punishable offense, how are you lot not in a cage?”

The boys sneered at her and turned to look at her, however, she had Needle out and pointing at them. “If you don’t leave now, I can give you all a scar each. It might distract a girl from the rest of you.” They both grew pale at the sight of actual steel. Arya supposed they might be younger than her or else they would have been packed off to fight in the war. “Be on your way.” They fled away from her and Arya sheathed her sword and glanced at the man. “Looks like you’ve got a few cuts, some of them bad. Shall I stitch them for you?”

“If a girl pleases,” the man answered. 

—

They weren’t as bad as she thought they were initially, but she still needed to stitch him up. The man, who still hadn’t given her a name, said nothing as she stitched his face and a bit of his arm. 

“That should do it,” she said. “Although you should be careful not to rip them and have a healer or maester check them later as well. Especially if they start feeling hot.”

“A girl is most kind,” the man said at last. 

“I told you before, my name is Arya,” she said, not bothering to give him her last name. She wasn’t stupid. He could sell that last name to the nearest Lannister soldier for a nice gold dragon. 

“A girl has faced many hardships and still has more to face.” The man tilted his head to examine her. “And dragons do not mix well with wolves.”

Arya narrowed her eyes at him. “Did you get hit really hard in the head.”

The man smirked at her and she scowled. “A warning. Dragons don't understand the difference between what is theirs and what isn't. Land, livestock, children…”

“You’re speaking in riddles and I care not for them. 

“Dragons are not slaves, they are masters.” The man looked at Arya as though he had said something wise. “Give me three names.”

“What?”

“Name three people who have wronged a girl. Who does a girl wish dead?”

Arya blinked, this man was crazy. “Joffrey Baratheon, Tywin Lannister, and Cersei Lannister.”

The man grinned. “Such lofty names. Such endings will take time and planning.”

He couldn’t be serious. 

“They also come with a price, despite your kindness to the boys who attempted to hurt me. I must give you a name as well.”

“And what name is that?”

“Daenerys _ . _ ”

Arya narrowed her eyes. No one gave their child that sort of name these days. “What sort of name is that?”

“A girl must remember that a dragon is not a slave, but a master of fear and equal to none. A wolf pup will be in danger. Will a girl let them be killed or will a girl protect her pack?”

“It seems you’ve been knocked in the head a few times,” Arya said. “You best return home.” She stood and left the strange man on the road. 

—

Arya returned to the inn and the room that she and Gendry shared. She had barely entered when he was upon her, looking her over, lifting her arms and cupping her face. 

“Where were you?” he demanded. 

“Walking,” she replied curtly. “I told you that’s what I was going to do.”

“But that was ages ago, you’re usually here by the time I get back from the forge.”

Arya rolled her eyes although she blushed as he continued to check her for what she assumed was bumps and bruises. “I’m fine, Gendry. There’s nothing to worry about. I was just helping someone who got into a spot of trouble. Just a weird man. I have Needle. I’m fine.”

“A weird man?” Gendry’s voice cracked. “What do you mean a weird man?!”

“Gendry.” She cupped his face in her hands and smacked her forehead against his. Not too hard. She had done that once before and she had what felt like a migraine for an hour and a half afterward. “I’m fine. You’re fine. We’re all fine. It was just a weird man and we don’t need to pay attention to him at all.”

Gendry sighed. “Okay. I’m just worried about you.”

Arya snorted. “I can take care of myself.”

“I worry about that too.”

They were a breath apart and Arya’s cheeks began to burn as Gendry pulled away and seemed to steady himself. “We better head down for supper,” he said. “We’re moving again tomorrow.”

Arya nodded, still blushing as he left their room. 

—

Arya has her face in Sansa’s lap. Sansa was singing very softly in a carriage and Arya could smell Theon and another man in the front of the carriage. Arya’s mother and one of Arya’s sisters and Rickon were there with the other wolves. Her mother was holding a baby boy while Sansa was holding a little girl. Arya has her nose on the baby’s foot and gave a comforting lick as she could sense the baby’s unease. Lady was beside her, curled up and quiet as always, no doubt missing her mate. 

“We’ll be alright, sweetling,” she heard her mother say gently. “We’ll be alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost had him say Mhysa instead, but then I remembered that that stuff hasn’t happened yet.   
I’ve always felt like the Faceless Men and R'hllor had something to do with one another, but they sort of work against one another so I’m incorporating that here.   
I’ve always thought of that line “dragons are not slaves” and then the whole “Mhysa is a master thing” as going together as well. Dragons are not slaves, however, in Valyria, they WERE masters


	52. Sansa IX

Sansa wished she could stroke Lady or Nymeria’s head, but holding a small babe did not quite allow for such things. The wolves took turns in the carriage, two at a time and three circling the perimeter, although Lady prefered to stay close to Sansa. 

Serena wiggles in Sansa’s arms, trying to find a more comfortable position until her lips were upon Sansa’s breasts sucking at the exposed skin. She did not seem hungry and seemed more bored than anything, wanting something to have her mouth on. 

Sansa returned her gaze to the window of the carriage, worried for Minisa, and the twins. When Theon had come to them, urging them to prepare to leave in a few days and help get the smallfolk and the people of the keep out to another stronghold, the three younger girls had been there, but then, suddenly, they, along with the Reed children, were gone. Theon had them stay longer than he wanted them to and had gone out riding, searching for them with a pack of direwolves upon his heels, but they were not found. 

Theon had bowed and apologized to the crying Celia and Sansa’s heart broke for her aunt. She could not imagine having her children disappear as they had, just like Arya. 

Nymeria whined and pressed her nose to Serena’s foot, but the little girl kicked it away in annoyance, not liking the wet feeling. 

Sansa pressed a kiss to her daughter’s brow and prayed that the others would be alright. 

—

“Can you sing to us, Sansa?” Lyarra asked. 

Sansa looked up from Serena, who was nursing contentedly as they rested for the night. 

“Yeah, Sansa,” Rickon said. “Please.”

Sansa smiled and thought for a moment. Trying to think of a song. Any song really, but only one came to mind. 

“ _ I'll tell you a tale of when time had no meaning, _

_ When legend and history walked hand in hand, _

_ When the swords of the mighty had yet to best the Dragon, _

_ And the Others still walked in the land. _

_ White rose: queen of the summer, _

_ White rose: queen of the fall, _

_ White rose: the new guard will follow, _

_ White rose: the old guard will fall. _

_ The sun and the moon were fixed in the heavens. _

_ The whole world grew weary as summer stood still. _

_ A queen of great courage and the heart of the Dragon _

_ Set her throne above the White Hill. _

_ White rose: queen of the summer, _

_ White rose: queen of the fall, _

_ White rose: the new guard will follow, _

_ White rose: the old guard will fall. _

_ The queen on her throne called the Others before her, _

_ And said: look around you; time should march on. _

_ I ask you to bow and make history the victor-- _

_ The day of the legends is gone. _

_ White rose: queen of the summer, _

_ White rose: queen of the fall, _

_ White rose: the new guard will follow, _

_ White rose: the old guard will fall. _

_ The people approached her to offer their blessings, _

_ And each brought red roses to lay at her feet. _

_ But the Others came forward to lay their last flowers: _

_ White as the summer's defeat. _

_ White rose: queen of the summer, _

_ White rose: queen of the fall, _

_ White rose: the new guard will follow, _

_ White rose: the old guard will fall. _

_ The cycles of time weave the world in their circles, _

_ And the flower-crowned queen is among us again. _

_ While the Others have their place in the verses of legend _

_ But not in the history of Man. _

_ White rose: queen of the summer, _

_ White rose: queen of the fall, _

_ White rose: the new guard will follow, _

_ White rose: the old guard will fall. _ ”

Sansa’s aunt smiled. “Your uncle used to sing that to Jon when he was a boy.” She chuckled. “He was never much able to explain what it was about save for the ice men who fell thousands of years ago.”

“That’s basically what it is,” Sansa said as Serena detracted from her breast with a yawn. She stood and put the rag over her shoulder and began to pat her daughter’s back gently. “They say that history often repeats itself. They say that the White Rose of Winterfell will rise again.”

Rickon laughed. “That could be Serena, you know, because of the hair.”

Sansa laughed. “Perhaps.” Serena burped and Sansa knew it was time to settle her in for the night. “Perhaps.”

—

Serena just didn’t want to settle down the next night. However, Sansa needed to start mending some of Rickon’s clothes or else the boy would go stark naked and she knew very well that he would and Sansa would rather that not be how he was introduced to their lady aunt. 

“Do you want me to take her?” Theon offered. “I could always settle Bran or Rickon when they were babes. Our mother used to say I had a magic touch when it comes to babes.”

Sansa looked at her brother for a moment before looking down at her daughter. Maester Luwin has been the only man to hold Serena. Oh, how she had wanted it to be Jon. The first man outside of the maester to hold their precious little girl. 

“I know I’m not Jon,” Theon said gently. “But I promise, he’ll be the next man to hold her.” He pressed a kiss to Sansa’s hair. “Worry not little sister. Jon will come as soon as he can. Your father has been winning recently and I know we shall be victorious soon. I know it.”

Sansa nodded before hesitantly handing her daughter to Theon. He was able to settle her quickly and Sansa smiled. Another girl charmed by Theon. She should have known. 

Even so, she wished it were Jon. 

—

Sansa dreamed of a mockingbird fluttering about her, pulling at her clothes as a wet and sea smelling wolf growled and brow led about her, snapping at the bird. 

She dreamed of white shells upon the shore as a lion roared and the sea became blood. 

She dreamed of a young woman, with white hair and bright blue eyes, smiling at a boy whose hair was like fire and whose eyes were dark and kind. They stood upon the battlements of Winterfell as flowers began to bloom and winter began to recede. 

Winter had come, but now, it was spring. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On June 4th, I’ll be starting a new Celiaverse fic “Love’s Not Always Wise” starring Celia Snow and Robb Stark with dollops of Jonsa as well.
> 
> Here’s the summary for the fic:
> 
> Growing up as the bastard daughter of Eddard Stark was not easy, yet, Celia knew she had it better than most. As things begin to change, and war echoes across the horizon, Celia must battle with her heart and duty as forbidden feelings begin to take root and she endangers everything and everyone she has ever loved.
> 
> And here’s a sneak peek:
> 
> “They’re dead,” he whispered. “They’re both dead and it’s my fault.”   
“Shh...” There were tears threatening to fall as his whole body shook. Celia cupped Robb’s face in her hands. “Shh...” She wiped the tears with her thumbs. “It’s not your fault.” It was. She had told him not to send Theon away. She had told him. “It’s not your fault.” It wasn’t. She had trusted him too. “It’s not.”  
It was magnetic.   
She brought his forehead to hers and tried her best to comfort him as tears began to slide down her own cheeks. Celia pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth tenderly, wishing she knew how to comfort him as her own resolve and heart were crumbling. She kissed the other corner as Robb shuddered against her.   
He turned his head slightly and his lips met hers.   
Celia froze for only a moment until his lips pressed against hers in earnest. Something inside her snapped and her arms slid across his shoulders and around his neck, pulling him closer until he plied her lips open with his tongue.   
It was pure instinct, the way their bodies moved against one another, the way their bodies molded together as Robb plundered her mouth, seeking absolution from her lips. Celia grasped at the back of his shirt, trying to find purchase as his own hands were at her skirts, yanking them up as he walked her back against the desk of her tent where she had been organizing her herbs and medicines.   
She felt his want. She felt his need.   
She was powerless to deny him anything.   
She was powerful enough to give him everything.   
Celia was on the desk, her skirts pushed around her hips and she could feel rut him against her, separated only by thick scraps of clothing.   
Closer.   
His lips descended upon her neck and she had not felt so alive since before Shadow had been killed. She had never felt so true.   
“Robb,” she mewled as his fingers dug into her hips, as her body begged for a release of something she could not name.   
At the sound of her voice, whatever spell that had been upon them was broken and her brother stumbled away from her, looking thoroughly debatched, looking thoroughly mortified.   
“Robb...” She slid off the desk and reached to touch his face, barely coming into herself. However, he cringed from her touch and, once again, Celia felt the emptiness she had when Shadow was killed.   
“I have to go,” he breathed.   
“Robb, please,” she begged him. She clung to his sleeve, desperate to keep him with her, to let them talk, let things fall back into place as they had been before.   
He pulled away from her. “We are not Targaryens. We are not Lannisters,” he spat the name. “It meant nothing. A weakness which never should have been acted upon.”  
Celia began to cry in earnest.   
“I’ll legitimize you as planned and you shall marry Cregan Karstark.”  
“Robb, please,” she begged.   
But he said nothing, the loathing apparent as he fled her tent and returned to the Westerling Keep, leaving Celia in her sorrow.


	53. Celia IX

When the younger children had left, Celia had been frantic. She had lost Ned, although he still lived, and Arya, but the loss of her three youngest daughters was what she could not take. Her babies. Her sweet innocent girls were gone to who knew where. 

Meera Reed had left a note saying they had to go further North, but that was it. 

Celia had sent a raven to Castle Black to Lord Commander Mormont and to Bran, begging them to search for the children and to house them and keep them safe from the Ironborn that were to come. 

Theon had gone to search for them, he had spent two days they could have used to get out of the keep searching, only to kneel before Celia as she cried over the loss of her children, unsure if she would ever see them again. 

Ned was a prisoner of war and the boy king could kill him at any time. Arya was somewhere out there, without even Nymeria to help her. Jon was away from his family and men died in battle all the time. Brandon and Cat and Robb were with him too. Now, Minisa, Alarra, and Alys were lost to her as well and she didn’t have a clue at where they had gone. 

Her babies. Her family. 

Why were the gods so cruel? 

—

“You are allowed to cry, you know,” she told Theon quietly as they rested again for the night. The boy was taking his shift to guard them, but Celia had awoken to feed Neddie. 

“I don’t need to cry,” Theon said gently. “There’s nothing to cry for.”

“Even if they didn’t raise you, even if they were out of your life longer than they had been in it, they were still your family.”

Theon looked down at his feet. Cat had told Celia that it was his tell, that he was trying to be strong, but needed to gather his strength for a moment before looking her in the eye again. “It’s fine.”

“No, it isn’t. You hoped they would help and they betrayed that faith. It’s alright to mourn if you do not wish to cry.”

Theon nodded. “A part of me had hoped that maybe I was misremembering. Maybe they were better. I was his last remaining son and he just… didn’t care. My sister didn’t care. None of them cared. They wanted me to pledge to the drowned god, but when I did it to appease them… I felt nothing. This god who draws power from men he has cast into the sea to drown. The god who seeks fire and blood the same way the Targaryens did. The god who encourages rape and reaving and…” He shook his head. “There was no peace there. Not like the peace I’ve felt in the godswood when I would follow the others to pray to the old gods. Not the beauty I could see and hear when I would sit in the sept to pray for the birth of Rickon. I didn’t feel any of it.”

Celia put her hand over Theon’s. “That’s because you are a Stark. From the moment Brandon brought you to Winterfell, you were a Stark.”

Theon brushed away a stray tear and squeezed Celia’s hand gently. 

—

“Who would pass the Bloody Gate?” the familiar voice asked. 

“Your niece, Uncle,” Celia replies gently. “And her children and family seeking sanctuary.”

Uncle Brynden removed his helm and stepped forward to embrace her carefully, gentle around little Neddie in her arms. “It is good to see you, lass.”

“I am surprised you are still in the Vale and not in the Riverlands with my sister and Brandon.”

“I tried to implore your sister to allow the Knights of Vale to ride out, but she refused. The mountain clans have grown more restless recently and some knights have even been killed.” He shook his head. “But I think she may change her mind if you ask her. She always had a soft spot for you that she never had for Cat.”

Celia gave her uncle a weak smile. She knew the reason. Petyr never had any feelings for her. It’s the only reason she and Lysa got along better than her second older sister did with Cat. “Will you guide us up, Uncle?”

“Aye, lass. I will.”

—

Celia gave a slight curtsy. “Sister.”

“You were to be in Winterfell, Celia,” Lysa said, her blue eyes cold. She was dressed in mourning clothes, but Celia guesses they were not for her husband, but rather for Petyr.

“The Ironborn has plans to raid us. Even now word has come that they have taken over Winterfell, with no Starks save for the bones of the Kings of Winter to haunt its halls.”

“I suppose you have come to seek shelter?”

“I ask that you allow us a roof over our heads and food, yes.”

“And is that all you have come to ask of me?”

Theon stepped forward. “My lady, I also ask that you send men from the Vale to help fight with King Brandon Stark and his men. They are winning and it is not the way of the Vale to sit back and do nothing.”

“You know nothing of the Vale, Ironborn,” Lysa snapped. 

“Sister, the Lannisters killed your husband. They killed Petyr.” Although Celia had no doubt the man deserved it. “They hold my husband hostage. They scour the land for my eldest daughter to force her to possibly wed the boy king. The Vale cannot stand neutral in this.”

“You are younger than me, Celia, you cannot tell me what I can and cannot do.”

“Lysa—” 

Her sister stood. “I must tend to my son. You shall be given salt and bread and you may all stay here. I shall not deny my family protection in my keep.”

Lysa left and Celia worried that they would not be able to reach her at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters have been shorter recently because I’m packing and moving to a different state. 
> 
> And I just love Theon, okay? Alfie Allen deserved an award for his portrayal!


	54. Ned IX

The first letter that arrived from whatever little bird Lord Varys had stationed in Winterfell was the birth of Ned’s granddaughter, Serena. The older Stark man did not know how he felt about such things. He knew he was elated. A child was always a joy to have and he prayed to the Old Gods that Jon would be allowed to meet his daughter soon. However, Ned feared his dreams. 

He was haunted by a girl with silver hair and Tully blue eyes in his dreams. A girl who was so obviously Targaryen despite her eyes.

He dreamed of her often, the girl he now guess was Serena. 

He dreamed of her in a land of snow and a seemingly never ending winter. He dreamed of her in the dark halls of Winterfell that seemed in disrepair. 

Sometimes Ned saw a flutter of red hair or a cloak very much like his own, but the focus seemed to be on Serena as she walked the halls of the place Winter was first defeated. 

Then, there would sometimes be a boy with curly red hair and brown eyes and a smile that looked so very familiar, yet Ned could not place it. He would walk beside Serena as though it were the most natural thing in the world. 

For the life of him, Ned could not place who the boy was. 

It was not long after news of Serena’s birth that Ned was given word that Winterfell was taken by the Ironborn, Euron Greyjoy, and then held by his man as the pirate did as he willed. The Master of Whispers had assured Ned that his family had gotten away, but it was then that he also learned that the twins and Minisa had gone missing, possibly further North and Ned’s heart squeezed. He prayed to the gods that Bran would find them and keep them safe at the Wall. They were only children, little girls that had no place in politics. Surely Lord Commander Jeor Mormont would be kind. 

Surely. 

Surely. 

—

“Jon Rivers is not your son.”

Ned looked up at the Master of Whispers who always seemed to know what was happening at all times. The bald man was ashen and his eyes wide. 

“What makes you say that, Lord Varys,” Ned said carefully. While he had left it up to Brandon to share Jon’s parentage, the fact that his older brother had said nothing meant he was not sure it would be of any help at the moment. 

“Your  _ granddaughter _ , Serena Stark, has silver hair.”

“Did you not hear the king you serve, my lord?” Ned asked sarcastically. “Hair color is no indication of paternity.” He looked back to the wall of his cell and away from the eunuch. “Is it not widely accepted in the south that Jon’s mother is Ashara Dayne?” 

He hated using the girl’s memory in such a way, but Ser Arthur Dayne died protecting Jon, surely she would understand. 

“You were never—”

“If you claim that I had not known women before my wife, you are sorely mistaken.”

“It does not change the fact that Jon Rivers is not your son.”

“Jon is my son and any who say otherwise is a liar.”

“It is a noble thing, Lord Stark, to lie and protect the last of your sister, but a man with Targaryen blood is a dangerous thing,” Lord Varys said. 

“Is that a threat?”

“An observation.”

“You would know as well as I, Lord Varys,” Ned replied. “Although our feelings for House Targaryen differ greatly. You stood by and allowed the madness of Aerys and you stood by, no doubt knowing where my sister was or that Rhaegar Targaryen had plans to take her. You no doubt knew who killed Jon Arryn and what sort of monster the king you now serve is as well.”

Varys lifted his chin ever so slightly. 

“You have allowed the murder and rape of women and children to go unpunished. You claim to be for the smallfolk. Yet you have allowed time and time again for them to be caught in a war between nobles.” Ned shook his head. “I trust you not, Lord Varys. Jon is my son. And whatever you think you may plan, it will fail. My son is a Stark. He will always be a Stark.”

—

Word came later that Robb had broken a betrothal with Walder Frey. Ned knew such a thing would not go well. 

Walder Frey has been one of the many lords pushing for Celia to be put aside so that one of his own daughters might become the Lady of Harrenhal. He had even dared to suggest a marriage between Arya and one of the awful man’s many sons or grandsons. 

Without a Stark of Winterfell to marry to one of Lord Frey’s daughters, without the promise of a Frey queen….

They might accept a betrothal to Rickon, but Ned highly doubted it. 

Ned feared the worst and knew that no words of advice would be allowed to be sent to his brother or nephew. 

—

“Lord Stark?”

Ned looked up and was rather surprised to find Prince Tommen at his now open door, a nervous nanny septa behind him. 

“May I help you, little prince?”

Although their coloring was very different, the quiet nature of the young boy reminded Ned much of Jon when he was a boy. He was much like Ned was too. Joffrey, even with his cruel nature, was very much like Robert. Tommen has a sweetness that reminded Ned of his youth or even of his younger brother, Benjen. 

“Joffrey says we are fighting against your brother.”

“Aye, my prince, your family is.”

Tommen looked down at his feet, as though he was thinking. “Do you think if you were allowed to go back to your family, Ser Uncle Jaime would get to come back to the Red Keep? Would we not be at war anymore?”

Ned looked at the boy sadly. “Aye, I hope we would.”

“Do you think Myrcella could come home too?”

“That I cannot say.”

“Oh.” The bastard prince looked at his feet in disappointment. 

“I am sure you will see her again, my prince. Even if she does not return soon.”

Tommen nodded. “I shall speak with Mother. I do not want to fight with the Starks. They were kind when we were in Winterfell. If we side with the Starks, Uncle Stannis won’t hurt us.”

Ned’s heart broke for the boy and feared what would happen if Stannis did gain control. “Perhaps.”

Tommen nodded again. “I shall talk to Mother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Varys now knows the truth, although Ned refuses to confirm anything. I honestly don’t trust Varys as far as I could throw him. 
> 
> And Tommen 😭😭😭😭! I love that it is freaking canon that he calls Jaime “Ser Uncle” how can I not love that sweet boy?!?


	55. Minisa I

Alarra and Alys both shot up from their place in the cart. They were pale and breathing heavily. Hodor was leaning over them, the gentle giant making sure they were okay. Echo cocked her head and stared at the twins with her mismatched eyes. Meera and Jojen has gone off to get food or else Minisa would be certain that Jojen would begin talking weirdly to the twins about ravens and dreams and things that sounded ridiculous. 

“Hodor,” the giant man said, touching Alarra’s hair. 

“It’s all right, Hodor,” Alys said. 

“Hodor,” the man replied. 

He was apparently Old Nan’s great-grandson, although Minisa saw no resemblance to the smaller old woman. Minisa didn’t know much about babies beyond what she saw with her mother and Sansa, but it seemed painful. She couldn’t imagine that Hodor was ever small and his mother must have been in a lot of pain when she had Hodor. 

“See you in Echo again?” Minisa asked her younger sisters. Minisa has been having some wild dreams too, but she was usually with their mother, her snout resting on her thigh.

“No,” Alarra said. 

“Three-eyed raven,” Alys continued. 

Minisa narrowed her eyes. “Ravens only have two eyes, dummies.” She frowned then. “I thought you said the raven thing was gone.”

The twins shook their heads. 

“Tried to kill,” Alys said. 

“But couldn’t,” Alarra finished. 

“What’s the point of your dreams anyway?” Minisa asked. The twins shrugged and she sighed. 

She wondered if she would get dreams too. Raven dreams. She wondered if she even wanted them. 

—

They were walking along a narrow road with Hodor pulling a cart that held the twins. They were very small so it was easier for them to be pulled instead of walking. Safer too. Echo darted in and out of the trees, occasionally nipping at something that Minisa supposed was birds. 

“You two can get in her head,” Jojen said to the twins. “Look through her eyes.”

“Only when asleep,” the twins said together. 

“That’s how it begins until you learn to control it.” He glanced at Minisa too. “You three are wargs.”

“Not just wolves,” Alarra said. 

“Raven too!” Alys added. 

“Shush it!” Minisa hissed. She didn’t quite trust the Reed boy. He seemed to be withholding a lot of things and Minisa didn’t like it.

“A three-eyed raven?” Jojen inquired. 

The three Stark girls looked at him with wide eyes. 

“You…” Minisa faltered. “You’ve seen it too? Does it have anything to do with warging?”

“No,” Jojen admitted. “The raven is something different, something deeper. The raven brings the sight.”

“But they can already see,” Minisa said, more confused than ever. 

“Haven’t happened,” Alarra piped in. 

“Yet,” Jojen corrected. “Or things that happened long before you were born or things that are happening right now thousands of miles away.”

“Why do you speak in riddles?” Minisa asked. 

“It’s how it works,” Meera said. 

Minisa prefered Meera over Jojen. Meera seemed more matter of fact. 

“Saw Father get taken,” Alys said. 

“Dreamed it,” Alarra added. 

“You didn’t just dream it,” Jojen continued. “You saw it. So did I.”

“You have the sight, too?” Minisa asked. 

Jojen nodded. “When I told my father about yours, for the first time in my life, I saw him cry.”

“Your father’s Howland Reed, right?” Minisa asked. 

“Yes,” Jojen replies.

“He saved my father’s life during the rebellion.” Minisa’s father always spoke highly of Howland Reed. She wondered why Lord Reed didn’t come to help her mother himself instead of simply sending his children. 

“Your father told you about the rebellion?” Jojen asked. “Mine never did. But I saw that too.”

Minisa narrowed her eyes. That didn’t make sense. How could he see it?”

“What else did you see?” Minisa asked. 

Jojen looked at the twins. “The only thing that matters. You two.”

—

Minisa awoke crying. She had another wolf dream of her mother. She saw them traveling like they were. Her mother cried a lot. For Father. For Minisa. For the twins. 

They should have said goodbye to her. They should have done something to let her know that they were okay. 

Minisa curled in on herself so the others wouldn’t see that she was crying. She needed to be a big girl so she could protect the twins. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my latest Celiaverse fic, find it here under the title of [Love’s Not Always Wise](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24538315/chapters/59249338)


	56. Sansa X

“Why is Aunt Lysa not willing to help us?” Sansa asked as they settled in their rooms. “The Starks are family and the Lannisters are ravaging the Riverlands, her place of birth, in the process of war.”

Her aunt sighed, looking out the window of the nursery, where the two babes were resting. “Your aunt has a… tumultuous relationship with our families, with Cat most of all, as well as our father.” She closed her eyes and closed the curtains. “What I am about to tell you is in the strictest of confidences. It’s… I suppose you could say that it is our family’s shame. I did not learn of it until later and Cat after me. Even so, I had not thought that Lysa would abandon us…”

“What happened?” Sansa asked.

“When your mother first met your father and their betrothal was officially announced, Petyr Baelish danced with your mother and attempted to kiss her.” 

“Petyr Baelish,” Sansa repeated. “Is that not the man who Joffrey Baratheon had killed?”   
“The very one.” Her aunt nodded. “He had always imagined himself in love with your mother, ever since we were children, whether his feelings were genuine and beyond lust, I will never know. However, that night, Petyr went to bed after drinking heavily due to your mother’s rejection.” Her aunt paused and closed her eyes. “Lysa followed after him and he took her maidenhead and she fell pregnant with his child.” 

Sansa gasped. “But… Is there a child somewhere? Perhaps they might be able to convince—”

“There was never a child,” Aunt Celia interrupted. “My father had Lysa drink moon tea. She was three months along, barely showing at all… It nearly killed her. Then, when the rebellion came, since Lysa had already proven to be able to get with child after just one night… Father married Lysa to Lord Arryn, who was in desperate need of an heir.”

Sansa could hardly believe such horrible things. She could not imagine her father asking her to get rid of Serena. She could not imagine it. She didn’t want to imagine it. 

“But—”

“My sister has every reason to not help our family,” her aunt added. “I just pray that she finds it in her heart to not blame us for our father’s actions.”

Even though she desperately wished that her Aunt Lysa might help them, she understood why her aunt might not. 

—

_ The Baratheon navy approaches King’s Landing by the hour and it will not be long, perhaps a day or so, before they arrive. Lord Stannis is an honorable man, but he is not merciful and has already proclaimed himself King of the Seven Kingdoms.  _

While many looked upon the Baratheon force as a welcome in the fight against the Lannisters. Even the knights who did not feel that they were needed to fight, thought so. However, Sansa worried. 

What if Lord… King Baratheon took hostage of her Uncle Ned, just as the Lannisters had in order to use it against Sansa’s family? What if he used Uncle Ned to pressure Sansa’s father to lay down his weapon and crown?

She prayed that her worries were unfounded. Even so, she prayed that everything would be okay.

—

Sansa was careful with the dyed. Maester Luwin had made them so as not to irritate Serena’s skin. It turned her silvery hair a dark brown, almost blak color. She needed to be careful. She was not certain of who she could trust. 

Serena whined, wiggling in annoyance whenever Sansa had to dye her hair. 

“I know, my love,” Sansa said, pressing kisses to her daughter's chubby cheeks. “We just have to do this a little longer. We don’t want anyone to see how pretty you are until your father comes.”

Serena waved her little fists in the air in protest and Sansa kissed both of them, cooing softly to her daughter. 

“We’ll meet with your father soon. I know we will.”

—

Sansa awoke as she felt her bed shift. She opened her eyes to find Lyarra crawling into her bed. She opened her arms and her cousin snuggled into her chest, curling in on herself as well. 

“Are you alright, sweetling?” Sansa asked, stroking Lyarra’s dark hair. 

“I miss everyone,” she said, her voice slightly muffled against the fabric of Sansa’s nightgown. “Why couldn’t Minisa and the twins come with us?”

“I don’t know, sweetling.”

“I don’t want to bother Mother,” Lyarra admitted. 

“Your mother would want you to bother her, Lyarra,” Sansa said. “She worries about you all the time.”

“But she’s worried about everything and she has Neddie to worry about now too. I don’t want to be a bother.”

“Oh, sweetling,” Sansa said, holding her cousin closer. “You could never be a bother.”


	57. Arya X

They had made enough money to buy a horse. 

It wasn’t a nice horse by any means, not like the horses Arya’s father kept at Harrenhal or her uncle kept in Winterfell. It was old and tired easily. However, the dappled grey horse had a sweet disposition when it wanted to have one. Gendry had decided to name the mare Babe and even spent a little of their extra coin, although Arya would hardly call it extra, on small cubes of sugar to feed the mare occasionally when they stopped for water or food on the road. Gendry absolutely adored the poor beast, speaking to it in a sweet, hushed tone as though it were a human child. It reminded Arya of how her mother would often talk to the twins. 

While the mare seemed to like Gendry, and was still a rather sweet horse, Arya was under the impression that the animal did not like her. Babe didn’t do anything drastic like bolting when Arya was the only rider or trying to buck her off, but it just seemed that the horse simply did not like her. 

“She knows you don’t like her,” Gendry said as they packed up their meager campsite for the morning. 

“She’s an animal, she can’t know anything.” The horse was nowhere near as intelligent as Nymeria. Arya’s direwolf had made it all the way back to Winterfell, she was certain of it. One could not, and should not, even try to compare the two animals at all. “But that’s beside the point. I own her, she shouldn’t treat me like this. I feed her too.” 

“I was the one who bought her though,” Gendry said with a laugh. 

“And I was the one who made some of the money so that we could buy her, therefore, she’s mine too.”

“I made most of the coin though,” Gendry said with a smirk. “I think I hold more right to her than you.” 

“Gods,” Arya said, rolling her eyes. “We sound like my parents when they’re arguing over something me or my sisters did.”

Gendry chuckled. “Do you miss them?” 

Arya nodded glumly. “Every day. Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better if I had stayed with my father, what it would have been like. Even if I would have been a prisoner, at least I would have my father. And at least he would have had me.”

“I think your father would have wanted you to be safe,” Gendry said, helping Arya onto Babe as they made their way off from their camp. “And even if we are running into the occasional Lannister soldier, it’s still better than being near their hive.” 

Arya narrowed her eyes. “Did you just compare the Lannisters to bees?”

Gendry thought for a moment. “Yes?”

She rolled her eyes as Gendry got on Babe behind her. “It’s stupid.”

“But it works. And that’s all that really matters.”

—

Harrenhal was on fire. 

Winterfell was on fire. 

King’s Landing was on fire. 

And yet, even as the fire spread, it snowed. Sheets of ice poured from the sky and swirled about Arya like ocean spray when heavy waves crash upon the cliffs. The three places were shifting in Arya’s vision like nothing she had ever seen before, making her dizzy as the world around her continued to spin. 

She could taste the ash upon her tongue and the sting of ice in her lungs. She needed to get out. She needed to get out. 

A horrible and heartbreaking cry echoed through the air and Arya looked up to see two scaled, winged beasts, dragons, falling through the sky as they wrestled each other in a deadly dance until one sank its teeth into the neck of the other. It was a horrible scream. It was mad and anguished and utterly sickening. 

Then, a white dragon with scales like fur or ice, passed over all of it, blocking the sun and the blistering snow until there was no fire or ice anymore. The shadow passed, and flowers began to bloom. 

—

Gendry and Arya were able to procure some wine in the last town they visited and traded the bottle around their campfire as they waited out a small storm in a cave. Babe was asleep, tired from the long journey of the day and no doubt crashing from the sugar cubes Gendry had given her, not wanting them to melt in the humidity of the rain. 

“We should spar,” Gendry said, hiccuping slightly.

“What?” Arya asked. “Why should we do that? We already know I’ll beat you.” 

“I know you can beat me at the sword, but what happens if someone comes at you when you can’t get your sword?”

“Then I’d hit them.” Arya took a drink from the bottle, her brain was buzzing slightly, but she would still be able to beat him if she put her mind to it.

“But what if he’s bigger, like me?”

“Who says I would be fighting a boy? Perhaps I would fight a girl?”

“Still, what if they were bigger?”

Arya rolled her eyes then and stood, setting the bottle of wine down. “Fine. Let’s wrestle then. Loser has to be stuck on cleaning duty for the next week.” 

Gendry stumbled up. “Deal.” 

She smirked. “Go.” 

Arya charged at him, tackling him to the ground. He groaned as the wind was knocked out of his lungs at the impact. However, he quickly regained his footing, although they were on the ground, and began to wrestle against her holds, fighting against her. And, to Arya’s horror, she realized that he was right. Even though she was good at dodging when it came to the sword, she was still no match to Gendry when it came to brute strength.

A shiver went up her spine as she felt his muscles grow tense as her hand braced itself on his arm as she tried to twist out of his hold. However, the second she felt his hot breath fan across her face, Arya froze, as did Gendry. 

He was atop her, settled between her thighs as he had her pinned on the ground with her hands above her head. Gendry seemed to slowly realize what position they were in, his face glowing red in the firelight. He began to pull away, but Arya was able to shift him off balance and make him fall on his back as she flipped over on top of him, straddling his hips, where she could feel him growing hard beneath her. 

“Arya,” he said carefully.

“What if I was just Arya as you are just Gendry?” she asked quietly. Her heart was beating rapidly in her chest, so much so that she worried that Gendry might be able to hear it. 

“It’s not that simple,” he said softly, reaching up to touch her face. 

“What if it is? My cousin married my bastard brother. So why couldn’t we…” She didn’t even know what she was saying, what she was asking. But, at the same time, she did. 

“Arya…” 

“If you don’t want me,” she said harshly. “Just say it and I won’t bring it up again. But I want you. I like you Gednry, more than I should and more than I’ll probably ever like anyone. So why can’t we just—”

His lips were upon hers. They were rough and chapped and she could taste a bit of the wine upon his lips. 

“We can blame the wine,” he told her softly. “We could blame it and…” 

“Yes,” Arya whispered as she felt something coiling in her belly as she began to herself against his growing hardness. “Yes.” 

Gendry cupped her face in his hands and their lips met once more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: the reason this fic isn’t tagged as Gendrya on tumblr now is because I was told not to by a fan because it’s “just a side pairing for the fic” and I’d rather not get pulled into a shipping war the person apparently doesn’t like Jonsa and didn’t want to see the fic in the Gendrya tag 🤦🏻♀️


	58. Jon X

Jon stood in his aunt’s tent, his arms crossed. Part of him had wanted to leave with Lady Brienne and the Kingslayer so that he might be better able to leave quickly and go to the Vale to be with Sansa, Serena, and his mother. However, he didn’t wish for his aunt to face the wrath of his uncle or Robb alone. His aunt was sitting at her desk, very still, pale as a sheet. 

At first, he had thought letting the Kingslayer go was a horrible idea. A large part of Jon wished to kill the man himself, just as Lord Karstark wished it, but he knew that such a thing wasn’t to be done. If the Kingslayer stayed in the Stark camps for much longer, he would be killed and Jon’s father would be too. And with Robb having broken his betrothal to the Freys, the men were even more suspicious of his family and their honor. Jon would not run, even though he longed to be with Sansa and their daughter. He would not rest until they were safe and independent. 

“Tell me it isn’t true,” Uncle Brandon said, entering the tent. 

Jon looked at his aunt, but she sat there with a straight back, with no regret in her gaze as she looked to Jon's uncle. It was in moments like this that Jon was struck by how alike she and his mother were in appearance.    
“Why?” Robb asked, standing at his father’s side as Lord Karstark flanked King Brandon on the other. 

“For our family,” Queen Catelyn said simply. 

“You betrayed me,” Uncle Brandon said, sounding broken. 

“Brandon,” Jon’s aunt began. 

“No,” he silenced her. “You know I would not allow it and you did it anyway.” 

“Our family is scattered and it all began when they imprisoned Ned,” Aunt Catelyn reasoned. “Things have only gotten worse since the capture of the Kingslayer. Do you truly believe the Lannisters would have stopped because of one prisoner? Do you think he would have held his tongue had he not been set free like this?” 

Jon felt ice in his veins. It was true. One of his biggest fears was that the Lanister knight would reveal his parentage to the world before he, or any of the Starks, were ready for the ramifications. 

“I lost one son fighting by your husband’s side,” Lord Karstark said, his voice carefully balanced as though trying not to draw his sword and threaten the queen with it. “I lost another to the Kinglsayer, strangled with a chain. You commit treason because your family is scattered?” The man sneered. “I would carve out my heart and offer it to the Father if he would let my sons wake from their graves and step into a prison cell.” 

“I grieve for your sons, my lord,” Jon’s aunt began. 

“I don’t want your grief,” the old lord shouted. “I want my vengeance and you stole it from me.” 

“Killing Jaime Lannister would not bring your children back to you, but returning him to King’s Landing may bring me back mine.”

“Jaime Lannister has played you for a fool,” Robb said darkly. “You weaken our position. You've brought discord into our camp.” 

“I think that’s more on you, Robb,” Jon said plainly. “You were the one who lost us our most prominent ally.”

“Enough!” Uncle Brandon shouted as Robb glared at Jon. “Make sure my wife and nephew are escorted wherever they go. Send more riders to find the Kingslayer. I want him found!”

—

“Walder Frey is a dangerous man,” Jon said, his arms crossed. He wasn’t being escorted at the moment, despite his uncle’s orders. Most assumed that he would be fine with Robb watching over him. 

“I know that,” Robb snapped. 

“And yet you did, perhaps, the stupidest thing you could possibly do. What alliance is there to be had that is instant and binding?” Jon stood straighter, letting his arms fall to his sides. “Bran is at the Wall and has probably already taken his vows. Rickon is in the Eyrie. I am a bastard and already married to your sister so she isn’t a possibility. You’ve promised them Arya, but you father had little right to promise her to anyone and she would fight it regardless.”   
Robb glared at him. “You have no right to question my actions.”

“I do when it puts my wife and daughter, our family, in danger,” Jon said firmly. “I do when you use my father as an excuse. He didn’t marry my mother.” Robb didn’t know who Jon’s mother was and it made Jon’s stomach twist at the implication he was making, but it was better to let Robb believe what he wanted to if he was using Jon’s father as an excuse. “He wasn’t married to your aunt when I was born. You were betrothed to a Frey girl, you made a vow and have made Unce Brandon break that vow because you couldn’t keep your cock in your trousers. She isn’t like one of your whores in Wintertown.” 

“Don’t speak of her like that. You don’t know her!”

“Neither do you!” Jon shouted. “Besides her face and the most basic things you can know about a person, what do you know of her?” 

Robb continued to glare at him. “She is my wife.” 

“And she might cost us my father’s life, all of our lives. We needed that bridge and Walder Frey has every right to turn his back on us or turn against us. You are the son of the King in the North and his liege lord’s daughter. Walder Frey is a dangerous man to cross. A person doesn’t live through as many wars as he did by fighting fairly. He’s a bitter old man who gets what he wants.”

“You only speak of that marriage favorably because you didn’t have to get an arranged marriage.”

“I speak favorably because it was the fastest way to meet my daughter,” Jon snapped. “While you worry about bastards and you gods damned honor, I worry about my daughter and my little sisters. Three of whom are lost. You have treated an oath recklessly and have now proven that your word, even as a prince, means nothing. How can anyone trust you?” 

—

He was in Winterfell, the stones were warm from the hotspring that ran beneath the keep, but the snow was blowing heavily down upon the ground outside.  _ Winter is coming.  _ The air was sharp in Jon’s lungs as he walked along the hall. 

Two children ran past him. A girl with silver hair was laughing as she skipped, twirling and chiding her companion. The boy seemed a little younger than her, his red curls bouncing as he tried to catch up to the older girl. But, even so, he was laughing and smiling as they locked hands and continued to run. 

The scene changed and two people stood before him, the children, he assumed, older. The two smiled at one another, their hands still locked, crowns upon their heads as flower petals drifted into the hall upon a breeze. _A dream of spring._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any guesses on who the boy is yet?


	59. Ned X

Ned heard whispers amongst the guards that Stannis Baratheon was sailing his fleet to King’s Landing. They had a good reason to be afraid. Robert’s younger brother was an intelligent man with good instincts, as well as a good head on his shoulders when it came to military strategy. What’s more, he was good when it concerned naval warfare. People often seemed to forget such things but it appeared that the Lannisters were not one of those people. They should be concerned. They should all be very concerned. 

Many people would die, regardless of the outcome of the battle. 

What Ned worried most for though, was his position depending on who won. 

In reality, Ned knew that almost nothing would change if Stannis won the fight and gained the Iron Throne. Even though Ned had planned to support Stannis’ claim for the bloody chair, he also knew that Stannis would not have taken kindly to his brother and good sister claiming the North’s independence, which could quite possibly include the Riverlands as well. Stannis would see this as treason, just as much as Joffrey did, and no doubt use Ned as a bargaining chip so that his family might bend the knee.

He might be less cruel with it than Joffrey was, but it wouldn’t change anything. 

Then there was the fact that Stannis had no children besides his daughter Shireen. Renly would be his brother’s heir, but, if Ned had heard correctly, the youngest of the Baratheon brothers had been killed, possibly by Stannis. 

There would be another fight for the throne and who deserved to hold it. The thought made Ned’s stomach churn. The realm was already being torn apart by infighting. More war would destroy everything. Even a supposedly noble war would do so. 

Ned wondered, briefly, if it would have been better if after the end of the Targaryens, the Seven Kingdoms had reverted back to their original seven kingdoms. 

—

Ned wondered what would have happened if he had kept Lyanna close during Harrenhal. He wondered what would have happened if he hadn’t danced with Ashara and had kept a closer eye on Lyanna. What would have changed? Would things have changed for the better? He didn’t know. He just didn’t know…

But at the same time… He wondered if he would have been able to marry Celia. He closed his eyes, hating himself a little bit. He would not trade his life with Celia for the world. 

—

Ned could hear the chaos above and wondered, briefly, how he would know who would win. When he would know who won. 

Ned hated not knowing. He hated having to wonder. He just wanted to meet his son. He just wanted to go home. He just wanted to go home. 

—

As the battle continued on, he prayed for his family, prayed for them all. There was no heart tree for him to pray it, but Ned was certain that the gods could hear him. He hoped. He prayed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually overslept yesterday and almost ran late into work. Oops.


	60. Celia X

Celia rushed to her sister’s chambers upon the news, leaving her children, granddaughter, and Rickon in Sansa’s capable hands. How dare she? How dare she!

“You have had this since dawn!?” she shouted, throwing the parchment upon the stone table at which her sister sat. 

“It was sent to me,” her sister said cooly. “Not you. I only showed it to you out of courtesy and because it might interest you.” 

“A courtesy?” Celia’s voice cracked. “Interest me? My husband is imprisoned there and who knows what Stannis will do with him if he wins. Our family is at war with the Lannisters.” 

“A war against the Lannisters,” Lysa scoffed. “They will never play fair. Look at the Dornish princess and her children. What house would do that and play fair? You should speak to Cat and her brutish husband and tell them to be patient.”

“My husband rots in a dungeon and you speak of patience?” Celia looked at her sister incedulously. “He is your brother by law! Does family mean nothing to you?”

“Family means everything to me.” Lysa stood to her full height, which meant she was eye to eye with Celia. “And I will not risk Robin’s life to get caught up in another of your Starks and their wars.” 

“They killed Petyr!” Celia tried to reason, hoping it would be enough.

“I did not ask you to interfere with the Lannisters,” Lysa snapped. “I wrote that letter to warn you and you and your stupid husband walked right into their clutches.” 

“Ned was trying to learn who killed the man who was like a father to him.” 

“Ah yes,” Lysa mocked. “A father to him. You and Cat were always Father’s favorites, and it was obvious based on how he chose your husbands for you in comparison to how he picked mine.” 

“Lysa, you were not a maid and we were at war.” 

“Yes, but there was you, and yet, father withheld a betrothal for you.” Lysa smirked. “Of course, that could be because the maester had yet to confirm whether or not the Mad King had found a taste for fish.” 

Celia burned with shame and, without thought, she brought her hand down upon her sister’s cheek. As soon as she did so, Celia gasped and covered her face with her hands. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Lysa, I didn’t… You just…” 

“I welcome you into my home and you would strike me.” 

“And you would use my turmoil over what happened in King’s Landing against me,” Celia said, tears coming into her eyes. “You knew what I was like when I returned to Riverrun. You were the one I went to for comfort, even when Cat would have welcomed me more than you, but I needed my sister who understood what it was like to be hurt by a man.” 

“We have changed, Celia,” Lysa said, holding her cheek, the flesh no doubt stung. “We are not those little girls who used to play upon the moors.”   
“You’re right, we are better. We are mothers and leaders.” Celia knelt before her sister. “Our family needs you, Lysa. Bring the smallfolk that you can to the Eyrie and into the mountain villages for safety and send some of the Vale Knights to fight for our family. The Lannisters are ruthless. They know your connection to Petyr and they know your connection to me and Cat. They won’t leave the Vale alone.” 

Lysa looked Celia over. “I shall think on it.” She waved her hand at her. “Leave me to my sleep.” 

—

Celia sat down with the children as Lyarra was curled on her lap, sleeping, her cheek against Celia’s breast. Theon was playing with the children, laughing with them as they climbed atop him in a massive dogpile. Neddie and Serena were taking a nap, Sansa and Celia both training the sweet babes to take naps around the same time. 

“What did Aunt Lysa say?” Sansa asked. 

“She will think on it,” Celia said with a sigh. “I pray that we are not too late.” 

She had not thought about the treachery of the Lannisters, not thought of what they might do to win. What if Celia could not handle the consequences? What if none of them could? She closed her eyes. She should have tried harder to make Ned stay. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once we get to the time skip things will really start picking up


	61. Arya XI

Arya awoke to a soothing heat that could only come from another person. It was like home, when she and her siblings would wake up in the early morning cuddled between their parents after a cold night. It was home. It was that feeling that everything right with the world was right there waiting for them. 

Her body was sore and heavy and yet she felt perfectly weightless. She felt perfectly content. 

She opened her eyes, not moving from her nest of tangled limbs and mingling breath. Gendry was beside her, his breath fanning softly across her face as he slept, peaceful. His bright eyes were closed and his expression let all the lines of worry melt from his face. His lips were turned in a slight smile and he suddenly pulled her closer to him until her face was buried in his chest, but she didn’t mind it. 

His scent was a mix of iron and sex and just… Gendry. 

Arya had wondered, briefly, if she would regret this moment, that come that morning she would wish she hadn’t kissed him, hadn’t let him peel her clothes from her body or let him take her maidenhead. 

She was a lady, afterall, despite her hobby preferences. She was the officially named heir of Harrenhal. Even though there was always the possibility that Jon would lift that burden from her shoulders. Still, a lady shouldn’t give themselves so freely. 

Arya’s mother and aunt would be scandalized. Her mother would be shocked and wanting to protect her from all of this. Her father would be angry, not at her but at her choices and the very thought hurt. But Arya still wasn’t ashamed. 

She would not wish back those moments of awkward passion between here and Gendry where neither of them really knew what they were doing. 

She would not regret it. 

She would not regret it in a hundred or even a thousand years. 

She would not regret it. 

—

The next day they stopped very briefly in a small village. They parted ways to run a few stands and where to meet when the sun was high in the sky. 

However, Arya finished her errands much earlier than she had anticipated. Arya began to head towards the tree that the two had planned to meet at when she froze. 

A heavily pregnant woman passed her by and Arya felt all the color drain from her face. 

What if she had gotten herself with child? She knew it could only take once. She didn’t have time for a babe. She didn’t have time to take care of a babe. She had to get to the Riverlands, to her aunt and uncle. She couldn’t… she couldn’t. 

“Excuse me,’ Arya said as a woman looked at her. “Do you have a healer in this village that I could visit?”

The woman nodded and shared easy directions on how to get to the healer’s home. Aray felt herself bouncing nervously with every step as she went. 

A child with dark hair and bright blue or grey eyes. A boy or a girl, it didn’t matter which. She would love them and Arya would like to think that Gendry would love them, but at the same time… What of everything else? She would be so very pregnant by the time they reached Winterfell and she doubted her uncle or aunt would be pleased to learn that she was no longer a maid. Gendry would lose the chance at the smithy she had offered him when they first set out. She couldn’t deprive him of that. 

And… What if he only agreed to stay with her because of the babe? What if his feelings weren’t true… He said to pretend afterall and so had she. She wondered, briefly, that if Jon’s mother had lived, would her father have still married her mother?

Arya could hardly imagine her father marrying anyone else or loving anyone as much as he loved her mother. So would he have given up such a chance at that happiness to do right by Lady Ashara had she lived?

Arya wouldn’t have been born if that had been the case…

Either way, now was not the time. 

Arya couldn’t do something like this now. She couldn’t. 

“And what can I help you with, lass?” the healer asked. 

“Could you brew me some moon tea?” 

—

It hurt like Arya’s moonblood, but worse. The healer had warned her that it would hurt, but Arya hadn’t thought it would be that bad. Even so, she had always had a rather high tolerance of pain and she would be able to persevere. Because she couldn’t regret it. She didn’t. 

She honestly didn’t even know if there had been any seen taking root, but she didn’t regret losing it if one had. She wasn’t ready, Gendry wasn’t ready. Neither of them were ready. 

But it didn’t stop Arya from feeling some growing sadness at the thought of the babe that might have been. 

As she and Gendry walked for a bit, leading their horse along the path, she wondered if she should tell him what she had done before they met up. 

However, part of her felt like he already knew and simply didn’t wish to speak of it. 

—

Arya recognized him almost instantly. She hadn’t spent much time around him in the Red Keep, but he had always been with Joffrey and Joffrey had always been watching her. 

“We need to leave,” she said softly, keeping her head down as she began to pull Gendry from their table, placing a few extra coins for good measure. But it wasn’t enough. 

“What in the seven hells are you doing here, Stark bitch?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the short chapter! Once we hit a time skip coming up around the end of boom 3/season 3, things will go more smoothly!


	62. Jon XI

They hadn’t had a significant victory since the Battle of Oxcross. But now the Lannisters were victorious over Stannis in his attempted siege of King’s Landing and were now in alliance with the blasted Tyrells. Even though Jon’s uncle and cousin had won every battle they had fought, the opposing forces had finally realized that attacking them head-on was not the wisest thing to do. 

They were fleeing now and whatever battle was won was won with barely any victory to truly be had. This was their endgame, it was obvious and Jon could see his uncle believed so as well. 

They were waiting to exhaust them, waiting until the Northern army dwindled and their own numbers and funding rose. 

The news of the alliance with the Tyrells could not come at a worse time. A marriage to the Rose of Highgarden was a highly sought after betrothment, even before this bloody war. A wise marriage contract in contrast to Robb’s foolish marriage to Jeyne Westerling. Even if the girl was good natured and kind, such a match would be shrugged at in times of peace, but in a time of war… If Jon were a free man and unmarried, if he and Sansa had not wed… He would have been made to form a marriage contract with the Freys, no doubt to give them Harrenhal. He would have done it too if it meant protecting his sisters, protecting Sansa, protecting his mother, getting his father back. He would have done everything in his power and it enraged Jon that Robb could not see the truth. That his cousin could not see the way the troops looked at him as the Freys turned their backs upon them. This was a Northern fight. The Riverlands were merely fighting them because of Aunt Catelyn and Jon’s mother. It was not due to any true loyalty to the Starks, even if Jon’s father was a good lord to many of them. 

Now they were heading towards Harrenhal. 

Jon was going home, but knew that Lannister forces had been stationed there, possibly still setting roots in a keep that he had formed his life in, a keep his mother had raised him and his sisters, a keep where his father had taught him to be a man. 

He dreaded what horrors would be in store for him. 

He dreaded the nightmare in which his father’s people had been forced to live in his family’s absence. 

—

He knew these people. 

He knew so many of them. 

Lory’s daughter had just had a baby, a little boy named after him. 

Marc’s older sister had returned just after her husband had died of the fever and was helping take care of him after their own parents passed in their sleep. 

Harlan had just gotten married to his sweetheart. 

Sam’s wife just had their second child, a sweet girl who would never know her father. 

Manfred had helped teach Jon how to handle a sword whenever his father was busy with his work. 

Walton had been sweet on Arya since they were children, even if she had never noticed.

Now they were all dead. 

The Northern soldiers mourned their own dead, the captured soldiers who would have fought bravely before their capture. Jon mourned the smallfolk that had no reason to be killed other than their allegiance to his family. 

“Lord Jon.” 

The words were but a mere whisper upon the wind, but Jon looked up and stumbled at the sight of the servants who had survived whatever massacre had happened there. They rushed to Jon, the elderly women touching his cheek as a mother might and the young boys clinging to his cloak for protection from the chill. 

They echoed his name and he knelt before them in shame. “Forgive me,” he said. “I should have returned to Harrenhal immediately after my father’s arrest. I should have come to defend you, protect you, as his eldest son, even if I am not his official heir.” Even though he was not his father’s son.

“You are fighting for your father, Lord Jon,” one of the women, Alyssa, said. “And your lady mother? Your sisters?” 

“My mother is in the Eyrie with her sister, the Lady Arryn. Arya has been missing since my father’s arrest. Lyarra is with our mother. Minisa, Alarra and Alys are missing, they’ve gone somewhere North.” 

“And you’re married now?” another woman, Kari, asked. 

“My wife, Lady Sansa of Winterfell, and our daughter Serena are safe Eyrie.” 

“Gods be good,” someone said, but Jon didn’t know who. 

He stood. “Harrenhal is no longer safe. This is the furthest south we have gotten and I have no doubt it will be made into a military post. I ask that all of you leave as soon as your dead are buried. No more of Harrenhal need die.”

The others all bowed their heads in acknowledgment and Jon mourned the fact that this was what needed to be done. 

“I promise, when this is all over, we can all be together again. I swear it as a Stark. We will get our home back.” 

—

When news of Hoster Tully’s death had reached them, they were forced to fall back on Riverrun, leaving Lord Bolton in charge of Harrenhal. Jon had wished to stay, but with the doubt of when his parentage would be revealed, he was not given leave to stay, no matter how much he felt he had every right to be with his people. 

Jon stood next to his cousin’s wife as Robb and Ser Brynden Tully, the Blackfish, were waist deep in the river, pulling along the funeral boat of Lord Hoster Tully. They released the boat and returned to the docks where they all stood waiting. Lord Edmure stepped forward, holding a bow as the others looked on. His face was ashen and Jon could not imagine the pain he was going through. He had been at his father’s side in the end. To lose a father… Jon prayed he would not get news of such a thing any time soon. 

Lord Edmure’s eyes were red from crying in private and Jon doubted that he would be able to shoot the lit arrow properly. It missed and the riverlord rubbed his eyes before taking another arrow, lighting it, and shooting it. It barely missed the boat drifting further downstream. 

“Forgive me,” he said, his voice choked upon his own sorrow. 

The Blackfish patted his nephew upon the back and took the bow from him. He lit his arrow and pulled it back and released it. The arrow landed as it should and the boat was set aflame. They watched as the boat burned until it sank below the waters. 

Jon bowed his head to the man who had been a reluctant grandfather to him, as he would have done anything to make his youngest daughter happy. 

—

“Brandon,” Lord Edmure said as they gathered around what was similar to a small council room. “If I may, I encountered a situation with one of my lieutenants at the Stone Mill which may have some bearing—”

“Call your good brother by his title,” the Blackfish said. “He is your king, and shut your mouth about the damned mill.” 

“The king knows I mean no disrespect,” Edmure said. “But by my count, the Mountain has lost half his men when they crossed the Trident. I know that it is no clear victory, but such a loss on their part cannot be discounted.” 

“You are lucky I’m not your king,” the Blackfish said. “I wouldn’t let you wave your blunders like a victory flag.” 

“My _ blunder _,” Lord Edmure almost conceded. “Sent Tywin’s men scurrying back to Casterly Rock with his tail between his legs. Even if not every battle can be won, at least we can make sure that the Lannisters do not have the men to win another.”

“It’s not about that,” Robb said. “Your instructions were to wait for him to come to you.” 

“At the risk of my people. I will not endanger my people for a war started for the North. Ned is my good brother and now one of my bannermen, but I cannot risk my people and Ned would not wish for that either. I saw an opportunity for less lives lost and I took it.” 

Jon, although he remained silent, agreed with him.

“What value is the mill?” Uncle Brandon asked.

“The Mountain was garrisoned across the river from it and we were able to push his forces back when he attempted to cross,” Lord Edmure stated. 

Uncle Brandon stood from his seat. “We will have to rework our plans. Edmure, do not act without thinking of the consequences much greater than one mill.” 

Lord Edmure bowed his head. “Yes, your grace.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t wait for the time skip I have planned. I feel like it will be so much easier to write!
> 
> And check out my new Celiaverse fic [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26529187/chapters/64663354)


	63. Interlude

Word reached the black cells that the false king Joffrey had entered into a betrothal with the widowed Margaery Tyrell. It surprised Ned that such a match had come to be, and yet he imagined that Tywin Lannister was desperate for the grain stores and was willing to bend just a bit in order to get what he wanted. 

Ned didn’t hear the news from Varys either. Rather, it came down from the guards as they gave the prisoners extra portions in celebration. Ned knew that such a thing could not have been Joffrey’s idea which meant that it came from one of the Tyrell’s. It could mean a great many different things, however, Ned has a pretty good idea that the Tyrell’s wished to get the upper hand. They simply used Tywin’s desperate need of food to not cause another riot outweighed his disdain for being played. 

—

Sansa sang her daughter to sleep, letting the girl drift off carefully to where all went when they fell to peaceful sleep. 

Serena’s hair was showing buts of silver in it and Sansa would soon have to use soot to dye it again. It was dangerous to have anyone see their baby girl’s hair. Her father had yet to make Jon’s parentage know and she knew that Serena and herself would be in danger of the Lannisters if they found out. 

She glanced out at the window of the moonless night. She prayed again that Jon would be able to come for them soon, but she feared it would be a great long while until she saw him again. 

However, she did not doubt that her husband would return to her. She and Jon had gone through much to get to where they were, married with a child. They would be together again. 

She knew it. 

—

It had been decided that, in order to gain the support of the Frey troops, marriage was still very much necessary. It was decided that Lord Edmure Tully would marry a Frey girl named Roslin. The Riverlord looked uncomfortable in marrying a girl he had never met, but they all hoped that this would help settle the dispute between them and the Freys. 

Jon had to also agree to letting go of some of Harrenhal’s land to the Freys and agree to speak more on the possibility of a granddaughter of House Frey marrying his baby brother. He said that he would speak favorably of it all, however he could not speak of his father and mother as they were away and once his father was free of the Lannisters they would be able to properly talk. 

They headed for the Twins, awaiting the opportunity to set the beginning of the end of the conflict. 

—

Celia put her good daughter to bed as well as her daughter, son, nephew, and grandson. Sansa was a dear and doing all that she could to help, but, in the end, she was still a child, a child that needed her protection. Celia knew that Sansa probably saw herself as being very grown up, but she was a child still, not much older than Celia was when she went to King’s Landing.

Gods be good, they were all children and didn’t deserve to go through any of this. 

“Lady Celia,” Theon said, bowing his head. “I’m going to head North tomorrow.”

She blinked at the boy. “Why? Should you not go to Brandon?”

“Someone needs to go looking for the girls. If I didn’t have to get you and the others to the Eyrie, I would have gone North to keep looking for them. Please, my lady, let me try.”

“I won’t stop you,” she said. “However, I ask that you go to the Wall and seek Bran’s help. I’m certain he will do what he can and the Night Watch would surely help in trying to find lost children. They need not worry that such an act would be taking sides in the politics of Westeros.”

Theon nodded. “I’ll find them, my lady. I swear it.”

—

They had barely outrun the Hound only for them to be found again, this time by someone who hated the Lannisters just as much as Arya did. However, she did not trust the men who wore the Baratheon sigil. 

She and Gendry has heard whispers that Lord Stannis, King Stannis as he would no doubt insist on calling himself, had killed his brother. Someone who would kill their sibling was not to be trusted. Besides, they left Arya and her father behind to face the brunt of Joffrey’s rage. It was only by luck that Arya had escaped. 

Gendry squeezed Arya’s hand as they made their way to Stannis Baratheon, worried about the fate that awaited them. 

—

Minisa held Alarra and Alys as they cried. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” she said. “Don’t cry.”

“No listen,” Alarra sobbed. 

“Twins!” Alys cried out. “The twins!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will lead up to the end of book/season 3 and then there will be a time skip.


	64. Jon XII

Jon stood respectfully behind his aunt. Robb and his wife, Jeyne, stood next to them and Lord Edmure Tuly and the Blackfish stood next to them. Uncle Brandon had approached the offered plate of bread and salt. Everyone was nervous. How could they not be. Robb had broken the betrothal to the Freys and his wife now stood beside him. 

“My honored guests,” Lord Walder Frey said, his voice seemingly in a permanent sneer. “Be welcome within my halls and at my table. I extend to you my hospitality and protection in the light of the Seven.” 

“We thank you for your hospitality, my lord,” Uncle Brandon said, bowing his head slightly in gratitude. 

The servant who held the plate of bread and salt gave it to his lord to eat from. 

“I have come to make my apologies, my lord,” Jon’s uncle continued. “And to beg your forgiveness.” 

“Don’t beg for my forgiveness, your grace,” Lord Walder said. “It was not me you spurned, but my girls.” The old lord motioned with his hands and a group of young women came to stand before them. “One of them was to be the crown princess of the North, now, none of them will.” One of the girls stepped up and one did with every mention of their name. “This is Arwyn, my daughter. My daughter, Walda. My daughter, Derwa. My daughter, Waldra. My eldest granddaughter Ginia and Neila. Serra and Sarra, granddaughters, twins. You could have had either. Could have had both for all I care. My granddaughter, Marianne. My granddaughter Freya.” For all that Jon found the man abhorrent, he was surprised at how well the old lord remembered the names of his children. “My granddaughter....” The elder man paused. Nevermind then. “Wertha? Waldra? Waldina?”

“I’m Merry,” the girl said quietly.

Lord Walder sighed. “Fine. And here’s my youngest daughter, Shirei, though she hasn’t bled yet. Clearly, you don’t have the patience for all that.” 

“My ladies,” Uncle Brandon said. “All men should keep their word, kings and princes most of all. My house is well aware of what things can be done when a prince does as he likes. For not raising my son to be a man worthy of your hands, I beg your forgiveness.” He looked to Lord Frey. “If I may be so bold, I would ask that perhaps a betrothal contract be made between your youngest daughter, Shirei, and my youngest son, Rickon. He is my heir after my eldest son. Perhaps it is not much, but it would be a way to make amends so the Freys of the Crossing and the Starks of Winterfell may once again be friends.” 

Lord Walder clapped his hands. “Very good.” He then turned his eyes to Jeyne. “There she is. Come closer, let me have a look at you, my lady.” The shy girl stepped forward. “Still can’t see you,” the old man said. “Old eyes.” Jeyne glanced at Robb, who nodded. The Westerling girl took a few steps forward and bowed her head. “I can at least understand why you broke your oaths. Much prettier than the Lady Lyanna. I never could understand what the silver prince saw in that horse-faced girl.” 

Jon saw his uncle’s hand tighten into a fist. 

“Well, I’ve enough room in the hall for you lot. We’ll set up tents outside with food and ale for the rest of your men.” 

“Thank you, my lord,” Uncle Brandon said through gritted teeth. 

—

Jon watched the wedding from afar, sighing as Lord Edmure pledged himself to a girl named Roslin. She was pretty, prettier than any of the Frey girls that Lord Walder had presented earlier. 

But she was young, possibly Jon’s age, or a little younger. However, Lord Edmure was a kindhearted man, he would treat her well. 

Jeyne had not been feeling well and had remained in her shared chambers with Robb. Besides, most agreed that it would be wiser to not let the girl be present at the wedding which should have been her husband’s. 

The southron wedding was well done and the amount of men present were amazing. Such a great host that Lord Frey had set up, even setting up tents for the Northern forces so they too might be able to celebrate the wedding when they had not been able to be present for their crown prince’s. 

Jon technically should not be there, but his uncle had wished to speak with him directly after the event. 

Once the ceremony was over, Uncle Brandon made his way over to Jon and clapped his hand on his back. “Your aunt and I have decided to proclaim your parentage two days from now.” 

Jon’s eyes widened. “What?” 

“We cannot trust the Lannisters, that is for certain. We can’t trust the Baratheons either, not if they take part in kinslaying. We need someone on the Southron throne that we can trust.”

“Uncle,” Jon began. “I don’t know if I can…”

“You can,” his uncle assured him. “Do you wish to know why I know?”

Jon nodded.   
“Because you’re my brother’s son. Ned would have raised you to be the sort of man the realm deserves, even if none of us knew it yet.” 

—

“Are you certain you do not wish to remain in the feast, Blackfish?” Jon asked as Jeyne was on his arm. She had wanted to go on a walk, feeling a little trapped within the walls of the Twins, which Jon could not blame her for. The Blackfish, upon learning this, had practically leapt at the chance to join them.

“If you’ve been to one bloody wedding, you’ve been to them all. I don’t need to watch my nephew grow drunk with love. I’ve already gone through Cat, Lysa, and Celia’s weddings, I need no others.” 

“I do believe you fear it makes you seem old, ser,” Jeyne said with a smile. 

The Blackfish rolled his eyes, but Jon could see a twitch of his lips. 

“I’m as young and spry as your husband, princess,” the older man said. “And a better swordsman to boot.” 

Jeyne laughed. 

They arrived at where the wine dispensers for the soldiers were. A Frey soldier was already filling another flagon. He turned to look at them. “Good thing Lord Walder’s in a generous mood.” 

Jon grimaced slightly and bowed his head. 

“Nice night for a wedding,” the soldier added, acting almost too friendly. 

Jon’s gaze shifted to the soldiers sitting at the nearby benches and saw that they wore more weapons than necessary. While he and the Blackfish were armed, it was because they were escorting Robb’s wife. But this… they had too much. 

“Not often he finds a willing husband for one of his daughters.” 

A soldier was walking into one of the Frey tents and when the flap opened, he could see it full of weapons and a soldier setting a crossbow. Jon cooled his features. He closed his eyes for a second, patting Jeyne’s arm for a second as he called Ghost, who had been out on a hunt with Grey Wind, and then opened his eyes again. More men began to enter the tent. 

“We need to get Jeyne out of here,” Jon said under his breath. The woman beside him gripped his arm tightly. 

“What?” the Blackfish asked and then he seemed to notice it as well. “There should be horses towards the edge of the camp and meet me at the river.”

“Someone needs to go inside.”

“Not on your life, boy. Brandon is a strong man, he can handle it. We need to get the lady out of here and get you out as well.” He pulled out his sword and blocked a man that had come behind them. “Take her and run,” he shouted. “I’ll not be far behind!”

Jon took Jeyne by the hand and began to run, pulling his sword out as he did so. 

It was a massacre. Frey and Northern soldiers were fighting each other with the Freys gaining the upper hand. They had gotten the Northmen drunk, trust in the guest rights taken to keep them safe. 

A soldier rushed for them and he swung his sword, cutting at the man’s throat and continued forward, trying to keep moving. They needed to get to the horses, they needed for the direwolves to get there. 

Jon continued to push forward, desperate to get them out, desperate to get them out. After fighting his way through, with Jeyne being saved by a snarling Grey Wind, his maw, as well as Ghost’s, was covered in blood. 

“Get on the wolf,” he demanded. 

“What?” 

“Get on the wolf  _ now! _ He’ll be faster than the horses and frighten then before they think to attack.” Jon helped her onto Grey Wind’s back. “Hold onto his fur tightly.” 

“Robb has never done this before,” Jeyne said.

“You’ll be fine, Grey Wind will do everything he can to protect you.” Jon found a shield of a dead man and had her put it on her back in hopes it protected her better before he got on Ghost. 

They raced to the river with the only injury being a stray arrow to the shoulder. It hurt like the Seven Hells. 

—

The Blackfish joined them as they made their way to Riverrun. 

“The others?” Jon asked, his vision growing dark, but he did not know if it were the night or not. 

“All dead.” 

Jeyne began to sob. “I never got to tell him,” Jon heard. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Jon’s thoughts drifted to Sansa and their daughter. He had yet to see her. He had yet…

The world began to tilt. 

“Jon!” the Blackfish yelled. 

And everything went black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well......................................................................................................................................................................................................................................
> 
> The instance of them in the camp is based off of the Telltale game (which I wish they had continued)


	65. Arya XII

Arya fell to her knees, the news causing her whole body to grow numb. Gendry ran to her speaking to her gently, but it was as though she were underwater. 

Dead. 

Uncle Brandon was dead. 

Aunt Catelyn was dead. 

Robb was dead. 

Jon… Jon was dead. 

“Where is your mother and the remaining heir of house Stark,” Stannis Baratheon’s voice came and Arya looked up at him. “Well?”

“My family was murdered,” she whispered. “My family was murdered and you wish to know where my mother is, where Rickon is?” Tears began to slide down her cheeks. “You have no heart, Stannis Baratheon. It is no wonder your men preferred your brother.”

Gendry’s hold tightened around her. 

Stannis Baratheon scowled. “Take them to their rooms,” he ordered. “And deny them food.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the very short chapter. Very short.
> 
> There will be a time skip and more stuff will be happening.
> 
> Had some family drama this weekend so that was fun.


	66. Sansa XI

“Serena!” Sansa called after her daughter. “Neddie!”

The two children giggled and continued to run down the hallway as though she had not called them at all. She sighed as their dark hair disappeared down the corner. Sansa followed after them calmly, knowing that they were old enough to not find themselves in too much trouble. It was hard to believe they were both four. 

It was hard to believe it had been three years since her parents and Robb had been murdered. They had received the initial news of the Red Wedding and Sansa had become despondent, caring only to have her daughter and Rickon with her. A week or so later they got a raven from Riverrun telling them that Jon had survived the wedding along with Robb’s pregnant wife. She had given birth to a son half a year later and that was the last they heard from them. 

Sansa could only pray that her husband was still amongst the living and that her daughter still had a chance to meet her father. 

Three years. It had been four since this had all begun. Four years since her uncle had been imprisoned. Four years since they had taken to hiding in the Eyrie. Her aunt had refused to take part in the war, but at the very least she did not sell them out to the Lannisters. 

Sansa walked around the corner and her daughter and good brother jumped from their place and shouted. She pretended to be frightened as the two giggled, and clutched to her skirts. Sansa smiled at them and stroked their hair, making sure to compliment them. 

They still had to dye Serena’s hair, not wishing for anyone to guess the truth. If anyone tried to come after them, Sansa knew that Jon would leave from Riverrun to protect them, but The Blackfish had said that it would take years for him to be properly able to protect anyone. 

“Mum,” Serena said. “Can we have lemon cakes?”

Sansa knelt down. “You want lemon cakes do you?” The two children nodded vigorously. She smiled before standing. “Then we shall see what the cook has ready at this hour.”

“Yay!” the children cheered, taking her hands and going towards the kitchen. 

—

“Has there been any news?” Sansa asked as she entered the solar both her aunts had grown accustomed to using. 

Both of the Tully women had begun to sport silver threads running through their hair, with both appearing exhausted. Many Northmen had fled to the Vale because of the Bolton occupation of the North. It was not that their supplies were running thin because of such an influx, but they were more worried about the gaze of the king who might be drawn to them. 

Joffrey Baratheon has remained as cruel as he had in the beginning of his reign. His marriage to Margaery Tyrell had done nothing to stop his darker impulses. 

If it weren’t for the fact that the Tyrell’s had chosen to side with the crown for no other reason but power, Sansa would have felt worse for the girl she had never met. But they had wanted the crown and damned their daughter for it. A daughter and a son had been born and, if the rumors were true, Queen Margaery was wasting away, rarely making any public appearances with Cersei Lannister taking up a more queenly role than she ever had before. 

“There are whispers of dragons in Essos,” Aunt Celia said, going over the papers. “Specifically of the exiled Targaryen princess.”

“Does she have much support?” Sansa asked. 

“She appears to have an army made up of slaves,” Aunt Lysa said. The two women had grown closer since their eldest sister’s death. “How she managed to buy such an army with her resources is beyond me.”

“It may take time for her to come to Westeros,” Sansa said, sitting with them. “Do you think that we should reach out to her? Perhaps she would be pleased to meet Serena?”

Aunt Celia shook her head. “There are rumors that she killed her older brother by having her first husband pour molten gold over his head. Whether there is any truth to such a claim, it must have begun from somewhere dark.” She looked at Sansa. “It would be best that Jon and Serena’s house affiliations remain a secret. I do not doubt that there are those who wish to use your family already. We should not place a larger target upon you.”

Sansa nodded. “Anything else?”

“It seems that the Martells have begun a rebellion,” Aunt Lysa told her. “Crowning Myrcella Baratheon as the legitimate queen of the Seven Kingdoms by their own standards of succession.”

Sansa took one of the letters, reading over its contents. “It does not seem to be a heartfelt endorsement,” she said. “Perhaps such a push is to hide something else?”

“Perhaps,” Aunt Celia replied. “Regardless, we can never be too careful.”

—

“I want a story about Papa,” Serena said as she and Sansa settled in for bed. 

“What would you like to know, sweet girl?” Sansa asked, stroking her daughter’s hair. 

“Tell me about how you and Papa met!”

“That is a rather ordinary story, my sweet.”

“Then I can get a lullaby and a story.”

Sansa chuckled at her daughter’s logic. “Hm,” she hummed in thought. “Your father and I met when he first came North with your grandparents. I was just a little girl then and he was a young boy, just a little older than you.”

Serena smiled, her eyes twinkling. _ Oh Jon. _How he would love this little girl. 

Sansa continued to stroke her daughter’s hair. “I don’t remember much of the meeting, but your grandmother will tell you that my hand was the first your father ever kissed and he always tried very hard to act like a little knight whenever he saw me.”

Serena giggled and snuggled into Sansa. “Now a lullaby.”

Sansa sighed for a moment and then began to sing. 

_ Far, far above the clouds soaring with the wind, _

_ A falcon flies alone, silent as the sky, _

_ I hear his lonely cry, never can he rest. _

She would pray that night, once her daughter fell asleep, that Jon would reunite with them soon, that he would be able to travel. That their family could all be together again. 

_ I walk with you along an empty winding road, _

_ We’re far from the ones we love, never can return, _

_ Never can we see again, the countries of our birth. _

She would pray for Minisa and the twins, pray that they would be found, as Theon had gone North to try and find them two years ago. 

_ When will I ever find a place to call my home? _

_ Sadness circling like a falcon in the sky, _

_ When will I ever find a way to speak my heart, _

_ To someone who knows what it is to be alone? _

She prayed for her uncle, that he remained safe under Lannister watch. 

_ Far, far above the clouds against the setting sun, _

_ A falcon flies alone, silent as the sky, _

_ I hear his lonely cry, never can he rest. _

She prayed for her Aunt Celia, knowing that her aunt was suffering so much because of all that had happened, that she was forced to keep it together for all their sakes. 

_ I long to spread my wings and fly into the light, _

_ Open this lonely heart to one who understands. _

_ When will I ever find a way to speak my heart? _

She prayed to the gods old and new that the pack might be reunited once more. 

_ When will I ever find a place to call my home? _

_ Sadness and loneliness, a falcon in the sky, _

_ When will I ever find a way to speak my heart, _

_ To someone who knows what it is to be alone? _

—

“My lady,” Lord Royce approached her, bowing his head in respect. 

“What is it, my lord?” Sansa asked, turning to the man. He had been very kind to all of them since arriving in the Eyrie, taking on a grandfatherly role towards the younger children. 

“There is a man and a young woman at the entrance to the Eyrie. She… I did not wish to get Lady Celia in case it was not her… I do not wish for her to be let down.”

“What is it?”

“The young woman claimed to be Arya Stark.”

Sansa’s she’s widened. “Take me to her.”

Lord Royce escorted her to the entrance of the Eyrie and Sansa felt her knees go weak at the sight. 

“Arya,” she breathed. 

She was a woman grown now. She looked like the North. She looked like home. 

“Sansa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we’re going to have Celia reuniting with her eldest daughter 😭


	67. Celia XI

Celia ran down the stairs and to the courtyard of the Eyrie. Her heart pounded in her chest and she felt breathless. She had left so quickly that she had not even put on a cloak, instead her arms began to grow chill as she gained speed and cared not as she fumbled slightly. 

One of the servants had come to fetch her and whispered softly their reasoning. A part of her hoped, a part of her dreaded the possibility that it was false, dreaded that this might all be a dream and that she would wake with no child returned to her. 

She made the last few steps to the Eyrie’s courtyard and Celia’s breath caught in her throat. 

She was of the North, her long face and dark grey eyes. Her long dark hair that was thick and almost wild as Ned’s was when he was younger. She was dressed in men’s clothes although it did little to hide the young woman she had grown up to be. 

“Arya,” it was a name she had said in her prayers for so long. It was a name she had cried for whenever she was alone and the others were asleep. Her firstborn. Her precious girl. Her wild little wolf who was so much like her father, more than either of them knew. 

Her baby girl. The first truly good thing the rebellion had given her. 

“Mother.”

Her precious girl’s voice cracked and Celia ran the last few steps and wrapped her arms firmly around her daughter, burying her face into her hair and cradling her head in her hands. 

“My baby,” Celia whispered softly as she felt hot tears drip down upon her neck as Arya pressed her face there. “My sweet girl.” She sobbed out a laugh. “You have gotten so very big.”

Arya held onto her tightly. “I missed you, Mother,” she whispered. “I missed you so much.”

“I have too, my darling.” She pulled away and cupped Arya’s face I’m her hands. “Let me look at you.”

Celia kissed her brow once she had taken in her fill. “I shall not be parted from you again.”

—

“Where have you been?” Celia pleaded. 

They had retired to Celia and Lysa’s shared solar. They had been properly introduced to Arya’s companion, a boy named Gendry, who looked like a young Robert from the Tourney at Harrenhal. He had blushed terribly when Celia had embraced him and kissed his cheek. However he had rejected her thanks and said that he did it for Arya and for her alone. That had placed a blush on Arya’s cheeks and it only led to Celia liking the boy even more. 

“We have been traveling everywhere trying to find you, any of you.” Arya looked to Gendry. “We were captured by Stannis Baratheon a little before the… the incident at the Twins, and he took us North to Castle Black.”

“Did you see my brother there?” Sansa asked. 

Arya nodded. “Bran is doing well. He has even been promoted to the Lord Commander of the Night Watch.”

Sansa gasped. “Truly?” She smiled. “I am glad that he was able to stay out of the conflict, that he is secure.”

Arya smiled as well. “He sends you his love.”

“Where else have you been?”

“Here and there, however, once we learned of your place here, Gendry and I came south to find you.”

“How did you find us?” Rickon asked. 

“Theon headed towards the Wall. The girls seem to have gone into the far North and he was determined to find them. He told Bran where you were so that any of our family who might travel to meet him would know where to find safety.”

Celia breathed a sigh in relief and thanked Theon for his love and care for their family. Brandon truly raised a wonderful son. 

“And Stannis let you go?”

“He was unaware of us leaving. He was preparing to battle the Bolton forces and trying to gain allies. However the North remembers and they know no king, but the King in the North whose name is Stark.”

They all chuckled at that. 

“And so you escaped?” Sansa asked. 

“We did not wish to be used as pawns. Besides,” Arya said. “He had plans for Gendry, something dark.” She shook her head. “I fear that Stannis seems to have become reliant on a type of blood magic.”

Celia’s lips formed a thin line. She had never cared much for Stannis Baratheon. But to hear that he had resorted to such measures frightened her. “I am glad you two are safe,” she said at last. “However, there are two that you need to meet.”

—

They introduced her to Neddie first. 

Arya knelt down so that she was at her little brother’s level. Celia’s sweet boy was clutching at her skirts and peering at his big sister curiously. He had learned to be wary of strangers. His wide eyes looked her over, debating on whether or not she was a threat. 

“Hello, Neddie,” she said sweetly. “Do you know who I am?”

“My sissy, Arya,” he said slowly, looking at her with a critical gaze as Ned might when he was looking over certain documents. 

“And how do you greet your sisters, Neddie?” Celia asked. 

Hesitantly, her son let go of her skirt and took a step towards Arya and wrapped his arms around her neck. Arya smiled and stood, holding her little brother in her arms. 

“You are so big,” she said, a tinge of sadness in her voice. “Have you been taking care of Mother?” Neddie nodded proudly into her neck. “Good boy.”

“And this,” Sansa said. “Is your niece, Serena.”

Arya smiled widely. “She looks like Jon.”

Sansa smiled. “That she does.”

—

“A white raven came from the Wall,” Lysa said, holding a scroll. 

She handed it to Celia and she read it. “Stannis Baratheon lost in his battle against the Boltons for control over Winterfell.”

“The scroll is too thick for such a small message,” Lysa countered. 

“Bran says that the Starks need to return North.” She narrowed her eyes and read the final words of the scroll.  _ Winter is coming and the night is full of terrors. The dead rise once more and we must take back our home for there must always be a Stark in Winterfell.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week we get Ned and see what’s been going on in King’s Landing


	68. Ned XI

The first time that Ned brought his family to Winterfell was magical. His children were of the North and a part of them would always belong there because of their Stark name. 

But to see Celia in the North, in the land he had been born in was an experience within itself. 

It had snowed when they arrived at Winterfell. It had been a mere dusting but it was something that Celia had never experienced before. 

The look of amazement in her gaze, the utter shock and delight made him love her more than he already had at that point. 

The North became her. It was as though she belonged amongst the cold and snow for she was the fire in his veins and he could not imagine living without her.

—

A part of him had died when he learned of Jon’s death. Shen he learned about Robb and Brandon and Catelyn. 

No one had stopped Joffrey from coming to inform Ned himself and if he had not been chained beforehand he would have strangled the boy himself. 

Only a monster would rejoice in such death. 

He had been allowed some amount of freedom within the Red Keep, but so little of it was for his own benefit. 

So little, so very little. 

It was as though he were going to go mad. 

Sometimes, he wished that Joffrey had ordered his head off, then perhaps his brother, good sister, nephew and son would still be alive. He did not know if it would make a difference, but he didn’t know that it wouldn’t either. 

—

Lord Tyrion sat across from him. 

The Imp wasn’t a good person by any stretch he of the imagination, but he was the only Lannister that seemed to understand he was on the wrong side of the war, even if he did not mind ensuring that side’s victory. He and Prince Tommen were the only ones to extend sympathy for the deaths in what was called the Red Wedding. 

At least he gave someone for Ned to talk to. Lord Varys had been rather withdrawn as of late and Ned did not trust that the man wouldn’t use his granddaughter for a scheme he would never agree with. 

“How are Prince Robert and Princess Rose doing?” Ned asked. 

“The royal children are being looked after by my sister. Golden roses the both of them.” the Imp replied. 

“And the Queen?”

“Queen Margaery has been getting more ill these past few days,” came the reply. “She barely has any energy to take care of her children. The Tyrell’s are attempting to help her, but My sister and nephew are doing very little to stop it. Jaime might have done something, but there’s a reason he and our sister have not been speaking recently.”

Ned grunted and took a drink from his goblet. “And I suppose that is supposed to bring me peace?”

“They have been in argument since the Red Wedding. My brother didn’t agree with the treatment of your brother and his family.”

“But it is against your father and he cannot so much against that.”

“No,” Lord Tyrion agreed. 

“If you perhaps spoke of what you knew about the rest of the Starks…”

“You are the fool your nephew thinks you are if you think I would give you any words about my family. I am more likely to bend the knee to Princess Myrcella. Or is it queen, I forget what the Dornish are saying.”

Lord Tyrion’s lips formed a straight line and Ned refused to speak after that. 

—

Ned was allowed to have some privacy in the godswood of the Red Keep, allowed one precious moment of solitude to pray to his gods and beg that they keep the remaining family he had left safe. 

“Lord Stark,” the master of whisper’s voice came from within the trees. Ned did not move, not wishing to alert anyone to the man’s unusual presence. “We have secured safe passage for you. We may be able to get you to your wife and children.”

Ned stiffened at the thought, sank into it like water, the hope drowning him in it’s heat. 

His thoughts echoed his wife’s name. 

_ Celia.  _

How sweet it would be to see her again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a reunion in Ned’s next chapter


	69. Sansa XII

“Perhaps it would be best if you and the children remained in the Vale,” Sansa’s aunt said gently. 

They were walking late in the evening when the children had already gone to bed. Arya had decided to sleep in the same room as them, not wanting to leave them alone, taken with them. Sansa and her aunt usually walked the halls at night, to allow themselves a moment to speak to one another plainly when little ears might not hear them. 

“You will not leave me or my daughter or your son behind,” Sansa said firmly. 

“Sansa, you are a mother now and you can’t—“

“You are a mother too, Aunt Celia, and you are still going.”

“I am much older, my dear, and it is my duty to take care of you and to make sure that our family is safe.” She took Sansa’s hands into her own. “I owe it to your parents and to my son to take care of you.”

“It is too dangerous for us to be separated. It would be dangerous for us to not be together.”

“Sansa…”

“We shall be stronger in the walls of Winterfell. My daughter has been here for too long and I fear for her safety most of all. We cannot drag the people of the Vale into this fight. It would be dangerous for us to be apart from one another.” Sansa squeezed her aunt’s hands in return. “We cannot be left behind. We go together, Aunt Celia. The pack survives.”

“You shall not be without a guard,” her aunt said firmly. “You and Serena are too important.”

“We shall be fine, Aunt Celia. I know that you and the others will protect me.”

—

“Mum,” Serena said, holding onto Sansa’s skirts as she began to pack a few things they would need to head North. They couldn’t pack too much and they would have to make clothes along the way to be for the colder weather. 

“Yes, my sweet girl?”

“Going home?”

Sansa smiled down at her daughter and stroked her hair. The blonde was beginning to show and soon enough they would have to put more of the dye in. But once they were in the North and once they were safe from the Lannisters and anyone else who wished to hurt them, her daughter would no longer have to hide who she was. Perhaps Jon would not either. 

Perhaps they might even be able to bargain with Joffrey and his advisors. Perhaps they would grant them freedom if Jon did not pursue to take back the throne. The Lannisters had plunged Westeros in a war much longer than that of Robert’s rebellion in recent years. They were losing favor with the people, even as they fed them. 

And with what news they heard in the Eyrie…. Queen Margaery did not have long left. 

“Is Papa there?” Serena asked, drawing Celia from her thoughts. 

“Perhaps, sweet girl.”

Sansa hoped. 

It would be so sweet to see him again. 

—

Aunt Lysa stood next to Sansa’s mule looking up at her carefully. “You must be wary of the road ahead,” she said. “You are the oldest surviving child of the Starks of Winterfell. You are the wife of the last child of Rhaegar Targaryen. You must be careful who you trust and who is hoping to gain your trust. Keep Serena close. For there are some who would find no value in her.”

Sansa nodded. “I shall treasure your words, Aunt Lysa.”

The older woman smiled softly and took Sansa’s hand and squeezed it. “And look after my sister. She pretends to be so strong, but she is so very lonely without your uncle. Make sure she does not overwork herself.”

Sansa smiled. “I promise.”

—

They made camp about half a day’s ride from the Eyrie.

Serena was fast asleep at her side. All she needed now was Jon. 

Sansa closed her eyes and fell asleep to the howling of wolves. 


	70. Celia XII

Celia looked over the children’s resting places and sighed. 

“You should rest, my lady,” Lord Royce said, sitting beside her next to the fire. It was strange to see the Valemen so oddly dressed. They had abandoned their house colors and more Vale-like clothing in order to blend in with the Rivermen and the Northmen in their travels. None would know or properly guess that half of the Vale’s troops were away from the Eyrie. There would be nothing to turn the boy king’s ire towards her sister’s house or people. 

“I cannot rest,” she said firmly. “I am the eldest member of House Stark that my children can look to. I feel as though if I rest I will not be able to protect them.”

“You are doing the best that you can, my lady,” the older man said. “Your husband would be proud.”

Ned.

How he haunted her thoughts. Haunted her dreams. 

“I feel as though I am not. I feel as though there is more I could do.”

“Begging your pardon, my lady, but you are no soldier. You are a mother and I beg that you allow us who are more knowledgeable of war to focus on the fighting. Think of yourself and your children and all will be well. We shall see the Starks in Winterfell once more.”

She smiled and turned to look at the fire. “Sometimes I fear that I shall never return to my own home, that I shall never see Harrenhal again.”

“When this war is over, my lady, the North, the Vale, and the Riverlands will be free and we can all return to the place we call our sanctuary.”

“I pray you are right, my lord. I pray that you are right.”

—

Eddie was curled in her lap as they continued their way North. The plan was to go to White Harbor and then make a round about journey to the Wall with men going to different houses to ask for their aid to take Winterfell back. Celia feared that none would come to their aid, so sick of war and all that surrounded it. 

But the Starks would endure 

The pack would survive. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but a big meeting next time! And then we get to see how our favorite adopted Stark is


	71. Ned XII

“Where is it you will be taking me?” Ned asked as they went along one of the backroads. He knew that they were heading North, but knew so little of the area they were traveling that he could not tell by which direction they were going. 

“We shall be heading to the Riverlands first, Lord Stark,” one of his guards, a boy named Podrick said. “My master is already there waiting for us with your son Jon Rivers.”

“And where are your master and my son staying?”

“Riverrun, my lord,” answered another young man, perhaps Jon’s age. “The Blackfish has held it tightly with nothing more than pure spite.”

“And what of my good brother, Lord Edmure?” he asked. “Forgive my excessive questions, I was not allowed many answers while I was kept under the Lannister gaze.”

“He is still held by the Frey’s and they have made the Twins the new head of the Riverlands as it is their name that takes precedence now. His wife, Roslin Frey has given him no sons, only two daughters and Old Walder wants a grandson to set as Lord of Riverrun.”

Ned’s lips formed a tight line. He did not like the sound of it, but he was glad that, despite all the war, the Riverlands were at least daring better with less fighting and bloodshed in their soil, even if he did not doubt that Lord Walder Frey was making a habit of taxing his people more than he ought to appease the Lannisters who have already shown to be treacherous. 

“I am surprised Walder Frey is alive,” Ned said. 

“He and the Blackfish both have enough spite to outlive a hundred kings, I think,” Podrick said. “My master is rather sure of it.”

Ned chuckled. “Your master sounds like a wise man.”

“A lady, my lord,” Podrick corrected. “Lady Brienne of Tarth. She served Lady Catelyn once and now follows her vows to Lord Rivers until she can properly care for Lady Sansa.”

“A lady knight?” Ned asked. Arya would have loved to know of such a thing. The thought of his eldest daughter caused his heart to ache. “I am surprised that my good uncle has not knighted her to have a lark.”

“She refuses it, my lord. She says she has yet to prove herself yet.”

“She sounds like a noble sort, your Lady Brienne. I shall be glad to know her.”

“You will have time to get to know her once we reach Riverrun and begin our trek North,” said one of his older escorts. “For do we not all become family when we travel?”

—

He dreamed of Celia. Her hair would have threads of silver in it now, as surely as his own dark hair had begun to turn grey. 

How sweet it would be to see her again. 

—

Riverrun. 

It was where he married Celia, where he first took full notice of her. This was where his wife had grown up, the home which was laced within stories of her childhood. Stories she had told Ned. Stories she had told the children. He knew this place as well as he knew Winterfell. This was the keep which his wife had been formed into the woman he so desperately loved. It was here that his wife had become his as well. 

He could almost hear the echo of her laughter across the yard as he and his party entered through the front gates. 

“Father.”

Ned looked up as he got down from his horse and his heart seized in his chest. 

He knew Jon from anywhere. His son had Lyanna’s hair and eyes, but his features were like the damned Prince Rhaegar but with all the strength that Ned could remember Brandon having, the same nose as Benjen and their father’s, the same lips as Ned’s mother. 

His son. His precious son who was his own in every way but blood. 

Ned stumbled to him and embraced the boy who had suddenly become a true man grown. 

“How I have missed you, my sweet boy,” he whispered softly. 

Jon pressed his face into Ned’s neck and felt hot tears drip upon his skin. He closed his eyes as the world around him grew blurry, for the tears he had held for so long did not wish to stop. 


	72. Jon XIII

Robb Stark was born six months after his father was killed. He was born with Tully red hair but the eyes of his grandfather, a true wolf. A true prince. 

Jon had cried when he held his nephew for the first time. He should have been Robb, should have been his best friend and cousin who stood there holding this little bundle, or the bundle should have had silver hair and eyes the color of the sky. That was how it should have been and yet it was Jon that stood there with his nephew in his arms. 

He did his best to protect his nephew and his good sister, determined to protect them alongside the Blackfish, no matter how much he longed to go to the Eyrie and see his wife and daughter. It was too dangerous. 

Too many had died already. Too many had been lost. Too many were gone from him forever and he could not risk the last thing he had of Robb to be put into any danger. 

When Brienne of Tarth had come to him and offered Jeyne and little Robb her sword, a sword which bore the head of a lion, he nearly took her head there. She had sworn an oath to his aunt, sworn the vows of a knight and yet she had not been there when Aunt Catelyn and Uncle Brandon and Robb needed her most. 

He should have taken her head there, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. 

So, instead, he allowed the lady knight to be their guard and help the Blackfish keep hold of Riverrun and a small portion of the Riverlands where the forces of the North and the Riverlords might find refuge from the south and the Freys. 

It did not help that Jon had begun to get phantom pains in his arm from the long healed wound on his shoulder. He could still fight, but there was a soreness in his shoulder that came when the weather turned. Surely it would only be worse in the North, but he prayed it would not be. 

—

Jon held his father tightly. He could hardly believe his father was there, was there in his arms. 

He had grown older, his dark hair turning grey and the lines in his face had deepened. 

“Let me look at you,” he said, cupping Jon’s face in his hands to look him over. Jon doubted that he was the green boy his father remembered. “You look well,” he said softly, his voice cracking ever so slightly.

Jon smiled at him. 

“Your mother?”

“Safe. She’s in the Eyrie. Arya sent word that they are going to begin heading North and we are to meet them at the border.”

“Arya?” His father stumbled ever so slightly as though his world had been turned on his head. “She’s alive. She’s….”

“She was held by Stannis, with a bastard of Robert Baratheon. They escaped as he was attempting to fight against the Bolton’s to gain Winterfell.”

“Do you think he will succeed?”

Jon shook his head. “A Southron army in the beginning of winter? I do not care for the Boltons, but they are of the North and they will be able to survive the winter where the south might not.”

His father nodded. 

“There’s someone I would like you to meet.”

—

His father fell to his knees when he saw little Robb. 

At three he looked so much like a Stark, even with his red hair. Jeyne curtsied to her good uncle and greeted him with all the respect that she could. The birth had been hard on her as well. So hard that she was forced to sit in a chair often, her body unable to handle much exertion. 

His father begged that she sit when he noticed her trouble. His gaze, though, remained on his grandnephew and he smiled. 

“He looks just like his father,” he whispered. “He’s so beautiful.”

Jon smiled and nodded. He watched as his father doted over the child and turned his head to look when he saw the Blackfish approach. 

“We are preparing to head North,” he said. 

“Have you arranged for a comfortable way for Jeyne to travel?” he asked. 

“She and Robb will travel in a wheelhouse so as not to arouse too much suspicion.”

Jon nodded. 

Soon, he would see his wife and daughter soon. 


	73. Arya XIII

Stannis Baratheon had been a cold man. Arya would even say heartless. Perhaps the only good person with the Baratheon name was the Princess Shireen. Even though Arya and Gendry had been locked away for most of their time with Stannis, the little girl was kind and good natured towards them, often asking the two about their travels or about their families. They had lived such different lives from her. 

How Shireen gained even an ounce of goodness was purely a blessing from the gods for neither of her parents seemed to hold any at all. 

The only respite that Arya gained was when they were in the North and she was able to reunite with Bran. 

He had become the Lord Commander of the Night Watch and she knew that Aunt Catelyn and Uncle Brandon would be proud of him. 

“The twins and Minisa are beyond the wall,” he had whispered to her gently when they embraced. Before Arya could hit him for not stopping her little sisters, he warned her that it was imperative that they not stop. This needed to be done for there was nothing else that could be done. It was necessary. For Winterfell. For the North. For Westeros. 

When talks came of Stannis’ plans for Gendry, Bran got Arya and Gendry out of Castle Black and ordered them to go to the Vale, to the Eyrie. 

“Your mother will be there,” he said. “She needs you, Arya. She needs you to help her brig House Stark home.”

—

Arya stroked her niece’s hair as the others slept. 

Her mother was the only one awake. They were at the center of so many guards that there was nothing they really needed to worry about and yet, Arya worried. 

“You need not speak if you do not wish to,” her mother said softly. “But I so wish to know what your life has been like since King’s Landing. I want to know how you survived. I want to know what people I should ask the gods to favor and which gods I should ask to punish.”

Arya chuckled and leaned against her mother, pressing her cheek to her shoulder. She felt like a child again, seeking comfort and warmth from her mother despite being a woman grown. And yet, her mother was still her mother and pressed a sweet kiss to the top of her head and nuzzled her tenderly, as she and Arya’s father always did when they were comforting Arya or Jon or one of their sisters. 

“There is so much.”

“We have a king journey ahead of us, my little wolf,” she said. “I shall listen to whatever you wish to tell me.”

“What if you are not proud of the things I did?”

“All that you did has brought you back to me. I would never not be proud of you. You, my beautiful girl, my first.”

Arya smiled and closed her eyes. “Perhaps tomorrow,” she said. “For now, I just wish to sleep here, like this.”

Her mother wrapped her arm around Arya’s shoulder and made her comfortable. “Alright,” she answered. “Then we shall.”

—

“When we retake the North,” Sansa said. “What do you hope to do, Gendry?” Sansa was traveling on horseback, allowing for the children to nap while being looked after by Arya’s mother. It was good to let her stretch her legs. Unlike Arya, her cousin and good sister was not used to traveling for long bouts of time. Not anymore. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted. 

Arya could feel his gaze upon her, but she did not look his way. They had talked about it on the journey there. 

Jon was the head of Arya’s family, since her father was stuck in King’s Landing. Even though he had been raised as a bastard and would understand Gendry, even though Gendry had done so much to protect Arya, he still felt as though he were able to ask anything of her family, even simply asking to stay by her side. 

She hated and loved him for it. Hated that he thought so little of himself and loved him for how much he did not wish to push himself into people who might not know him well. 

He reminded Arya of her mother, the way her mother graciously took guests into Harrenhal despite the way some treated her due to her lack of sons. 

“Arya tells me you had training as a smithy. Surely we might situate you in Winterfell or even Harrenhal, if we ever get it back.”

Gendry bowed his head. “I could never ask—“

“You are not asking,” Sansa said firmly and Arya glanced back at her to find her cousins smiling at her. “I am suggesting.”

—

They drew closer and closer to Moat Calin. They were perhaps a day’s ride and a few days after that, Jon would be joining them. They had gotten a letter from the Blackfish that they needed to be careful due to Lady Jeyne’s health. Her great uncle said it could be comparable to Princess Elia’s after the birth of Prince Aegon. 

Soon, Arya would see her brother again. Soon, their pack would only be missing one. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who is going to reunite next chapter?


	74. Celia XIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a Covid scare this weekend. Hence the short chapters.

Her children, niece, nephew, and granddaughter were settling well in Moat Calin. They seemed to enjoy being in a place that was not the Vale. 

They were going North, to the home of the Starks and Celia could not help but think that there was a rightness to it all. 

The Starks would come again and they would finally be allowed to be free. She would be able to not live in fear every day that her children would be killed. That they wouldn’t be hunted. 

“Open the gates!”

“That must be Jon,” Sansa said. 

Her good daughter’s cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkling. She lifted her skirt and rushed to the gate and Celia laughed, walking carefully to her. 

The thought of seeing her eldest son again made her heart feel at ease. Her son. Her beautiful Jon. He would be with his wife and daughter, and she would have her son back.

Celia smiled when she saw Sansa rush to a man who looked so much like Ned it hurt. Jon held her pressing his face into her neck and it looked as though no one in the world mattered more than that moment of time for either of them. 

Celia saw a young woman with a young boy and could only guess that it was Robb’s wife and son. Thoughts of her nephew brought thoughts of her sister and good brother. And with Brandon came thoughts of Ned. 

Ned. 

Ned who was still in King’s Landing. 

Ned who Celia did not know if she would ever see again.

“Celia.”

Her heart stuttered in her chest as she turned. 

She would know him anywhere. She would know him by the shape of his eyes, the shape of his mouth, the way his nose sloped, his height, his voice. 

This was a man she had spent so long curled into. This was the man she has shared a bed with for so long. This was the man she had children with. This was the man she had built a life with and he was there. 

He was standing before her eyes. 

He was there. 

“Ned,” she whispered. 

She went to him. Touched his cheek hesitantly, fearing that he would not truly be there, that he would be a figment, a dream she was just waking up from. But there he was. Her husband. Her beautiful husband. He was warm and real and there. 

“Ned,” she whispered again, tears sliding down her cheeks. 

He cupped her cheek as well. His eyes drank her in, never staying in one place long as he seemed to memorize her features. 

She ran her fingers through his hair, finding grey in it as well as his beard. Celia laughed. “We have grown so old, my love.”

He smiled and her heart melted. It had not changed. It had not changed at all, even from the moment she had met him, his smile had not changed. “You are as beautiful as the day I married you.”

Celia closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around her husband, held him in her arms. Not wanting to let go. 

Ned’s arms wrapped firmly around her body and Celia felt—for the first time in so long—she felt whole. 


	75. Ned XIII

Ned held his wife tightly. He was home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you guys don’t follow me on Tumblr, I got into a small car accident on Thursday night and couldn’t get my car fixed until yesterday. It’s been... quite the week. Like, this week has been my 2020. 
> 
> Sorry for the really short chapter!
> 
> To make up for it: [Here is a picture of Ned and Celia](https://fromtheboundlesssea.tumblr.com/post/641753303473061889/ned-stark-celia-stark)


	76. Sansa XIII

Even though she was not a baby anymore, Jon still held their daughter with all the tenderness of a newborn. She was resting against his chest, her head on his shoulder. 

It was amazing how comfortable she was with him already. It was amazing how their daughter curled into him, her tiny fist gripping his shirt and a slight smile on her lips as she slept. 

“She’s so beautiful,” Jon whispered softly. “I wish I could have met her sooner.” Sansa leaned onto his other shoulder and put her hand to their daughter’s back. “I should have come sooner.”

“You were healing,” she said. “And I know you have had to switch hands when it comes to your sword.”

She had noticed it when they ate. She had noticed that he no longer used his right hand for things and when he had to, he couldn’t curl it into a fist, as though his hand was frozen if he tried to move it anymore. 

Jon grimaced. “It took me months to realize that I couldn’t grip my sword properly. I thought it was just because I was out of practice. I can’t feel my hand sometimes when I wake up and it sometimes feels like it is making a fist, but my hand is barely curled at all, just enough to look like it might hold something but not enough to truly do anything or to stop that something being knocked from my hand. I grew up with double handed swords in my hands. I had to relearn years of training just to figure out my grip and weight shifts.” He paused. “Even so, I should have tried harder. I should have come sooner.”

Sansa sighed and kissed his cheek. “I wish you could have too, I wish you had. But you’re here now and I will never not regret that you not coming might have saved your life, might have kept you safe.”

Jon smiled at her and kissed her nose. 

—

They were discussing how to take back Winterfell and what they might have to deal with in terms of Stannis Baratheon. 

Sansa didn’t like the sound of the man. He had killed his own brother, if rumors were to be believed and had people burned. The thought caused a shudder to run up her spine. Jon put his hand on her back for comfort. 

It was then that a letter arrived for them from Bran. 

Sansa’s uncle unrolled the scroll and read it aloud. 

“ _ Dearest Uncle _ ,” how Bran knew that their Uncle Ned was at Moat Cailin was not explained. “ _ I write to inform you that Stannis Baratheon is dead. He was killed during the siege of Winterfell. Many of his soldiers abandoned him prior to the battle because he allowed his red priestess to burn his daughter alive since he no longer had Gendry to use. Many Southron soldiers are heading in your direction. I believe it would be best to let them pass. They do not care for the war against the Others and they do not care for the North. Soon some Northern lords shall make their way to Moat Cailin. I shall be accompanying them as representative of the Watch. I shall see you all soon and I pray to the old gods that you remain well. _ ”

“Stannis Baratheon is dead,” Arya said, her eyes wide. 

“It appears so,” Sansa’s uncle replied. “We need to ready for the coming lords and begin to make plans.”

—

It was like magic. 

It had been years since they had been with one another, years since those brief nights after their wedding. 

Their bodies had changed since they had last been together like this. Their bodies had gone through war and injury, childbirth and escape. 

And yet, if felt as though nothing had changed at all. It was as though fleeting memories of the other fueled them into remembering what the other liked, what the other wanted. 

Sansa let her head fall onto the pillow of her bed and cried out in pure delight as Jon began a steady rhythm and tension began to build inside her, as she felt herself reaching that delicious end where she and Jon would be complete once more. 

Sansa sighed into her release as Jon groaned, spilling into her. They stayed like that for as long as they could, linked together and sinking into one another’s warmth. 

Jon pressed his lips to her shoulder. 

“I love you,” he whispered. 

“I love you too.”

—

Sansa watched as Jon played with their daughter. Serena was enthralled by her father and the attention he gave her. They played with Robb as well. 

Sansa’s heart squeezed at the sight of his nephew. He looked so much like her brother and it hurt. It hurt to know that he never knew his son, was never able to meet him, never able to see the boy he was steadily growing into. 

“You must be very proud of him,” Sansa said, looking to her good sister.

Jeyne smiled sadly. “I miss him every day and it is only because of Jon that I feel like Robb would be proud of how he is being raised.”

Sansa took Jeyne’s hand in her own and squeezed it. “You know that some might ask for Robb to be crowned king, there is a possibility of it and I need you to be ready for it.”

“I do not want my son to become a king,” Jeyne said. “I was a princess only because Robb was a prince, but I did not ever wish for a crown, only the one I have because Robb had it made for me.” She looked out at Jon and the children playing. “I don’t think Robb would wish for him to be king either. He saw what it did to his father, how it weighed on him. I don’t want my son to have that burden, especially when many will blame me for the broken betrothal to the Freys. No, I do not want my son to be king. If I am asked, I will ask that it be passed to another.”

“It is his right.”

“The North needs someone who knows the land, someone who is older. If the Northern lords try to put the crown to Robb, I will ask that Lord Stark be the one to take it. I think… I think it’s what Robb would have wanted.”

Sansa looked at her good sister sadly and squeezed her hand tightly. 


End file.
